


Carried by the Wind

by Nurayy



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, the lord - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurayy/pseuds/Nurayy
Summary: Third Age, Harad. The best of friends travel through the wonders of the desert, through peril and adventure. A tale of unexpected encounters, friendship and more. Events taking place around and during the time of the Quest.
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 29





	1. The Desert - Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This story has grown out of the wish of exploring the Southern Lands - Harad - and its people, who often get this touch of evil and darkness. Because I so love Tolkien's universe, I wanted to discover their beauty. I wish to draw some light into the unknown Lands of the South.
> 
> I attempted to write an OC who would have somehow an impact, and yet, who has to be fleeting, just brushing past, without changing nor capturing the free spirit and independence of the elf, nor the course of the original story. It is thought to be filling in between, like events untold. A small tale spanning between the the history of Middle-earth, around and during the time of the quest.
> 
> A scene with mature content was not planned but just happened spontaneously :) There are flashbacks and references of sexual abuse, nothing too graphic.
> 
> When Aragorn and Legolas speak together alone, or elves speak together, they speak elvish. Even if I write in English, because of everybody's understanding, and because I have very, very poor knowledge of elvish :)
> 
> Everything of Tolkien's fantasy world belongs to him and so do his characters. I own nothing apart from the OC's, my interpretation of the Lands of the South and the events I made up with my own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first five chapters 'The Desert' are pre-LotR, and for all who know Cassia & Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles, could be settled some few years after the MC's The Stars Of Harad. Which triggered the idea of writing this. Thanx to Sio for answering my Mail and allowing me to make reference. The sexual abuse referred herein could be what happened in the MC 'Captive of Darkness'. For whom does not know that series: It doesn't matter for the story, although I can recommend to read them ;) It was my first access into LotR-fanfiction.
> 
> My very special thanks go to Ruiniel. I could not do this without you! And I could not wish for a better beta-reader.

For years Aragorn had not seen the family who so warmly accepted him when he had been captured and sold as a slave in Harad. And so, he felt the urge to visit them. They were now a free people and he needed to see how they fared and if, hopefully, they were safe and keeping their hard won freedom. Legolas had not hesitated to accompany him once more. It had been a joyful reunion.

They spent a wonderful time with the tribe; participating in their everyday life, helping the shepherds on the fields with the mûmakils and spending the evenings in talks and music, with the rhythmical, uplifting songs of those people who had once been slaves.

Life for them had gone on quietly since the overtaking of control through evil was focused on other regions. Aragorn and Legolas had sent prayers of thanks to the Valar, for keeping their family safe through these times, and a prayer of pleading, that it might stay that way for times to come.

Parting had been difficult and emotional, as it is when one bids farewell to loved ones without knowing when, and if, you would ever see them again.

Soon they were on their way on horseback. They had taken the path of the grasslands through which they had travelled before. The many signs left behind by recent Orc encampments and a sudden warg attack - that they, fortunately, managed to fight off, but had caused their horses to shy and take flight - made them change their route.

That is how they came to be journeying at the border of the desert on foot. Heading North, towards home, following a dry streambed on its lowest point; a dead, sandy valley...

* * *

The elf sorely missed his home. He did not understand this strange land they were crossing. Only moments past the air had been searing hot and deadly dry. And Anor seemed to burn the naked earth angrily from the sky. Then, that same sky had turned dark as night, and the temperature suddenly dropped.

The wind lashed the sand in billows against anything in its way. It whipped into their faces which they tried to protect with their cloaks. It entered into their noses, their mouths. It pierced through the fabric of their clothes and it felt like thousands of needles pricking their skin.

This place felt unspeakably alien to him, unfriendly, ominous, a mass of extremes. First raindrops fell, not even wetting the sand, but evaporating from its heat. The thick drops increased, soon hitting the ground with small splashes.

The cliffs far behind grew threatening and black against the dark grey sky. Sudden lightning reached down like slashing fires into the earth with deafening explosions, illuminating the fictitious night with dazzling light.

"Estel, we must get out of here!" Legolas shouted against the noise of the increasing storm.

He knew not if Aragorn had heard, since even his elven ears could barely hear his own voice. They did not really know what would come but they ran for their lives, towards the boulders and rocks at the borders preceding the vast, rocky face behind.

Then it seemed as if the sky had opened to empty itself; the rain poured down in streams. Legolas could not even see an armlength ahead of him. The sand had turned into mud, and rivulets of brown water ran over the sloppy ground. They were completely encased by a curtain of rain, dripping wet within a breath. The water raged, and the lightning in the sky left the earth grumbling under their feet.

They climbed over stones, toward large boulders and rocks, where they could make for higher ground. Legolas led the climb, glancing back from time to time to assure that Aragorn was right on his heels. He knew the task for the man was more tedious than it was for him. He saw Aragorn climbing and stumbling non so nimbly but - to his relief - keeping pace.

But when he turned once again to check on his friend he witnessed with dismay how the ranger's foot slipped on a mud-covered stone. From his position above on the rock, he had to watch Aragorn reach out to get a hold on the rocky surface, but finding no purchase his head hit the rock hard. Legolas choked out a cry. And then Aragorn lay motionless, slumped on the stone.

Through the pouring rain, the elf crawled back down the slope. He froze as he saw blood run over the man's face. Holding his breath, his fingers fearfully searched the vein at Aragorn's throat. To his relief, he found a life beat. Only then he allowed his lungs to fill again.

He brought his face close to his friend's, speaking softly into his ear.

"Estel, are you with me?" he brought out, his voice shaking, failing to hide his fear.

Aragorn only blinked miserably, with eyes alarmingly glazed. His leg was trapped.

Legolas tried hard to shift the stones that pinned it. He groaned frustrated as he found them impossible to move.

"Clumsy human," he gently reproached, reassuringly ruffling his friend's hair, trying not to let him feel his despair.

But then more urgently he said, "I cannot move these rocks with my bare hands. I need to find something for leverage. I have to leave you in search of anything that may be of help. Please, my friend, you must hold on, I will be back as fast as I can!"

Aragorn nodded reluctantly, fearfully glancing to the risen waters.

It was hard for Legolas to leave him. The rain was pouring cold and merciless. Yet he had no other choice. The elf reached out his senses, determinedly searching. He climbed towards aught his eyes could hardly see. But he felt it was there, it was calling to him through the storm. And finally he saw a small, meagre tree, growing sturdily between the rocks, against all odds in this land of extremes.

He touched her gently, he talked to her and he felt that she understood. She allowed him to do what he had to do, while the water poured over them relentlessly. He spoke to her his apology and gratefulness, and then he was off, hurrying down towards Aragorn.

Through the streaming rain, he heard Aragorn's voice calling his name. His heart tore at how desperate and broken it sounded and he sped up his descent even more.

As he finally reached his friend, the gravity of the situation hit him. He had to act quickly or Aragorn would drown in the streaming water that already reached his chest. He forced the branch between the stones attempting to loosen them. Aragorn tried, with all the strength he had left, to pull his leg free.

As if all was not yet enough the rain turned into hail, beating down on them violently like icy bullets shooting from the sky.

Legolas plunged into the torrential water that was now at the level of Aragorn's shoulders, to get down to the pinning cliffs. As he resurfaced gasping for breath he saw Aragorn fling his arms over his head in an attempt to protect himself from even more harm. The thought to take his soaked cloak off, to throw it over his friend's head as a shield from the fury of the storm then flared up in his mind. But he quickly dismissed it, since he could spare no time.

His hands, strong and lean as they were, tightly clutched the wood. He was fully aware that if the water ripped it away, he would see Estel die.

The elf fought against the streaming water, pushing and pulling against all reason. Defeat was no option to him, no matter how futile it all seemed to be. The panic and the horror, the fear of losing his friend, gave him strength he did not know he possessed.

Yet, all his struggles seemed in vain. But suddenly then the stones shifted considerably under his pressure. He resurfaced again, out of breath, panting, lungs burning, and he brought forth a strained shout: "Estel, pull!"

But Aragorn had no more strength to free himself. He was gagging and coughing, swallowing water that had reached the last level before drowning him.

Legolas heaved himself out of the stream, and pulled Aragorn after onto the firm, stony ground, slumping back against the rocks. For a long moment, his limbs felt heavy and numb. He held Aragorn tightly clutched to himself his arms slung around his chest.

He felt him trembling in his grip, and as he slowly eased his hold on him Aragorn rolled over and tried to rise, but injured and exhausted, he was unable to do so on his own.

Legolas gently lifted Aragorn's arm over his shoulders, holding it by the wrist. He braced his other arm around the man's waist and pulled him up with him. The elf partly stumbled and partly climbed over the rocks, while carrying rather than sustaining Aragorn.

With his friend's body shuddering, trembling and crumbling under its own weight, he gathered all of his elven strength once more, to compensate for the human's weakness. At times he slipped on the slick, jagged rock and hit his knees or his wrist, as he kept himself, and most importantly Aragorn, upright. The pain that slashed through his joints and tore his skin, he ignored.

Finally, after a time that seemed endless even to an elf, they found shelter at the entrance of a cave in the rocky massive bordering the streambed. Legolas eased Aragorn gently to the ground. The man did not move nor stir. His pulse was far too slow, his skin ice-cold. His lips had taken on a bluish tinge.

 _'I have to warm him,'_ Legolas thought alarmed.

Everything they carried was dripping wet. There was no way to make a fire either. The only source of warmth he could think of was his own body. Though exhausted and drained from the ordeal, he was still warm. Urgently he peeled Aragorn out of his soaked clothes and freed himself from his own wet garments clutching to his skin. He lay down close to his friend, the wet cover wrapped around both of them; his slender but strong arms closing the cold, shivering body protectively against warm skin. At first, he had tried to keep him awake, but all his effort proved in vain. The man had slipped into unconsciousness.

Legolas held his friend all through the night, keeping watch over the state of his vitals, listening intently to the slow, ragged breathing and the too sluggish pounding of his heart.

Slowly Aragorn's body warmed, and his breathing and pulse regained some stability. Out of exhaustion and listening to the now stronger, steady beat, Legolas drifted into sleep.

He awoke in confusion, feeling heated, and with a start, he realized that Aragorn had gone from undercooled to feverish. They were both wet with perspiration.

He gazed with concern upon the beloved face close to his own. His friend's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with heat, and he shifted uncomfortably in his restless dreams, moaning softly. His fast, ragged breaths sounded painfully whistling.

The ordeal of the previous day had been too much for a human, even for one with Aragorn's strength. Illness had claimed him, had infected his lungs. Legolas saw the pain in his face with every breath he struggled to take. The fever was high, too high, the skin clammy.

This was much for Legolas. If it was injury he could cope. He had ever had to deal with it on the field. But human sickness scared him. He felt alone, he _was_ alone to deal once more with his friend's mortality. Dear Eru what was he to do?

How should one lower a fever in the heat of the desert day?

Then, a thought suddenly pierced his mind; _'The stream of last night!'_

He hurried to the edge of the cave and peered down into the ravine. The stream was gone, though, standing water was resting in the deeper sections, forming wide, clear pools. Their glittering surface sent particles of light soaring and reaching him strangely. He felt puzzlement and at the same time a strange sensation of awe and relief.

Fast and furious the water had broken into the dryness of the desert. Unmercifully, with ferocity, it had threatened to swallow them. Precious and quiet it was lying now, glittering like crystal in the warming sun. Water to drink, water to heal, water to wash the heat of a fever away, water to stir athelas on a fire, for a weary body strained with illness to revive. And he found hope.

Outside the cave, Anor was burning in all its brightness from the sky. The searing heat drying perspiration before it could even show on the skin.

Aragorn's usually strong body was weak, ill with fever and burning lungs. Legolas was tight with worry, trying to cope with the unfamiliar conditions of this strange land. He enveloped the man into their shirts, light fabric, to avoid dehydration. Patiently he moistened his lips and trickled water into his mouth.

He never rested. He fetched water again, climbed rocks in the simmering heat, he made fire, changed Aragorn's bandages, stirred athelas... And very carefully he checked his friend's pulse repeatedly, felt his brow for the temperature. He spoke soothing, comforting words to him, and he feared… he feared the worst.

There was only one thought in his mind; _'He must get well, he must heal.'_

And the next thought was, that maybe he was still not doing enough...

The world around him started spinning and gradually disappeared, covered by large, black spots dancing across his vision.

His legs gave away under him, he felt them no more. Nor did he feel his hands and his arms when he hit the ground hard.

He lay sprawled on the ground because he simply could not rise anymore.

Only then he realized, that he had not drunk anything since the day before, with the extreme physical effort he had taken upon himself.

Only then he realized, that his knees and hands were bleeding from climbing the rocks.

Only then he realized, that he was beyond exhausted and drained.

Aragorn would have long time forced him to rest if he had been in any shape to do so.

He miserably managed to push himself up on his hands and knees. Crawling over to the water skin, he reached, and then, holding it shakily to his lips, he drank in long gulps. The water slid down his burning throat, pure and refreshing.

Slowly he rose and began to clean and bind his own wounds. He had to take better care of himself if he wanted to be of any help to his friend.

This place wanted to show him the limits of his elven strength...

* * *

_(Aragorn)_

My head throbs, I can feel it is bound, and my stomach feels nauseous.

I try to clear my mind, but as I blink into the crisp light, I am dazzled. A piercing pain flashes through my head.

I struggle, push myself up on my elbows, but strength is not on my side. My stomach churns violently.

I feel a hand to my chest, gently holding me down, and hear a soft familiar voice, "Hush, take it easy my friend. You have suffered a major concussion and just survived a serious lung infection. You were very ill, Estel. I've feared to lose you."

It is Legolas. I carefully crack my eyes open slowly getting focus of his pale, shining face over me.

"Legolas? Where are we? What happened?"

I flinch at my croaking voice.

There is stone all around and bright beams of light strike through an opening. The brightness painfully hits my head again, and I shut my eye.

Are we in a cave? - Valar! We are in a cave! I cannot believe it.

"If you find shelter in a cave, it must be dire, no other options left..." I murmur, smiling faintly, but not daring to open my eyes again. - As much as I try, I cannot remember how we came to be here.

"We are only to the entrance of the cave," Legolas corrects pointedly, "And yes, there was no other option."

Legolas patiently recounts all that has happened. And as I listen, blinking slowly, I finally manage to adjust to the daylight. Patches of memory then return to me.

I sigh in consternation.

"Here we are again, my friend! How on Arda do we always manage to get into such situations?"

Legolas shrugs and then beams a bright smile at me, although he looks tired.

"I just thank the Valar that it is over now and you are recovering. That is all that matters."

I am exhausted and hurting, but I cannot leave it; I know how situations with us can get from bad to worse, and so I tease him.

"We are still far from home, my friend. Thank the Valar, but dare not pretend it is over..."

Legolas takes a deep breath and releases it with a long sigh.

"Yes, mellon-nìn. How could I forget! Walking with you that far south, and thinking we would make it out without any more trouble, is quite improbable, if not impossible!"

His laughter rings clear and uplifting as the weight of the last days wears off him. I feel a pang of guilt at the distress and strain I have caused him.

But nonetheless, I counter.

"I fear you are confusing something. How many times did I get you out of trouble?"

Legolas ignores the challenge. Instead, he is already up, helping me to get further into the cave, away from where the rays of the burning sun would soon fall.

"Wait here, my friend. I am going to fill the water skins," he announces, already in motion.

"And where should I go in my present state, gwador-nìn!" I point out affectionately.

"Oh, with you... One never knows what you are capable of. Further trouble might be waiting behind the next rock already," Legolas parries, laughing out merrily.

He will not tell me, but I know that he has gone through a tearing experience because of me. I can see the relief clearly written on his face.

He stands now in the entrance of the cave, tall and golden, lit by the streaming rays of Anor, peering down into the ravine. And he speaks fair words as if he sings a song. I cannot but wonder at how he always finds happiness in the simplest of things, even after the strain has almost bent him.

"The desert... since we entered it, it has not ceased surprising me; the burning heat of the day, the freezing chill of the night, all-claiming dryness shimmering in the air, and the next moment water in streams drowning the sand. See now! In the seemingly waste lifelessness, life blossoms against all expectation. What beauty to my eyes!"

He is truly a star. He is a ray of light in the dark... What would I do without him…

And then I think wryly, that I probably would be dead by now.

"By all the beauty that your elven eyes do see, you cannot deny, that it is a bloody trap indeed," I say wearily.

"Aye, that it is," he smiles unperturbed, "but still - … I am in awe!"

And then he swings over the ridge and is gone.

As I am alone I cannot resist to slowly crawl forward to peer down into the ravine with my own eyes. What I see leaves me open-mouthed, to say the least.

Ponds of crystal-clear water are pooling in the previously dry streambed beyond. All around, plants unfold and coloured flowers are crowning them. Bushes between the rocks, that previously had seemed dry and dead, are now green with tender, slender leaves.

I watch the spectacle, unable to divert my gaze.

After a while, I realize how heavy the sun beats on my still aching head. I push myself back into the shade of the cave. The effort provokes me a coughing attack, which is pure agony when even the smallest of movements hurt.

* * *

Legolas returns with filled water skins. And I know as soon as I see him that everything is not right. His face looks ghastly pale and haunted. He does not speak. His eyes avoid meeting mine. He sits, his back against the rocky wall at the opposite side of the cave, staring into the void. His breathing comes shallow and fast, his body is tense. I frown. I am appalled at the sudden change.

"Legolas? What is it?"

Legolas stares at me at the question. His eyes are strangely glazed. - What has happened?! I do not understand.

"Orcs!" He suddenly hisses, narrowing his eyes, "I have seen orcs and men. Evil is camping in this place! They have prisoners. Children laid in chains! Human children of about seventeen summers to my guessing. What they do to them... - I've heard it, Estel! I've seen it. It is horrible! - I must stop them!"

Gone is the lithe, shining creature. Gone is his fair, joyful song.

His words are sharp, his voice is hard. And I dread what is triggered.

I am overwhelmed. I know not what to say. I can only imagine how close this hits him, what long-buried emotions resurface.

He had healed, he had buried it all, I have been help and witness. - Yet buried is not forgotten.

His voice is flat, deprived of any tone, "I cannot allow... just cannot allow that to continue!"

His words burn into me and I feel such pain at the extinguished litheness and music he just emanated.

"We will stop them, gwador-nìn. We will stop them, I promise!"

"You are injured, you cannot fight," Legolas protests, "You need rest. - They are many!"

"I am better already," I assure him - anything to calm him! - "And if they are many, do not even think once, that I will let you go alone!"

My gaze is serious, "Legolas, just keep an eye on them. Make sure that they leave not without our knowledge. Give me some time to recover. By the Valar, just promise me you will not pull any stunts on your own!"

I clasp his forearm and I see the anger burning in his grey-blue eyes, both extremes together, fire and ice.

He reacts not, his eyes keep burning. "Legolas, promise me!" I insist.

And then he sighs, perhaps calmed by my touch and my determined presence. "I promise," he whispers, allowing his tense muscles to relax.

* * *

Since that incident, Legolas uses the cover of the night to fetch water. From time to time he climbs close to the bigger cave (where the men and the orcs are camping), to survey.

Every time he comes back to me he is in obvious distress. He seems to never even relax anymore, every muscle of his body is tense. He finds no rest.

He cares for me, changes my bandages, brings me water, and what he can find to eat, so that we do not have to use up all our provisions. And I can do not a thing to help him, because I am still weak, and it unnerves me. He changes his own bandages; just to keep himself busy (because in fact his wounds are already healed). That done, he sits, his back close to the stony wall, staring into nothing at all.

I observe him quietly. I ask him to share with me whatever terrible knowledge he had to witness. Obviously it is a great effort for him to speak, but in the end, it all tumbles out of him.

"The men are northerners, they are speaking Westron. I heard how they insulted the children as dirty Haradrim, who deserve this treatment. They are beating them... I heard how they hit them... I heard the distressed whimpering and the suppressed screams, not to awaken any more reason for further beating. They... are touching them... they tease them anytime they feel like it - men and orcs alike. It seems they have order not to leave visible injuries, since the Lord they are headed to wants them untouched... for his own USE."

Legolas spits the word with disgust. He sets his jaw and he hisses, "I will kill them all! Cursed sprawl of Mordor!"

My stomach clenches as I imagine the horror going on so very near.

I witness Legolas' reaction to a nightmare he is in a way reliving. It is surely unbearable to have to leave those children to their fate. But we are significantly outnumbered. It would be folly to rush in to attack. We need to act with caution, await the right time. At the moment, I am in no shape for an open fight.


	2. The Desert - Riders in the Distance

_(Aragorn)_

"They are breaking camp!" Legolas announces, and I can sense his disquiet.

I have been waiting for him to return from his observation point, but I am ill-prepared for this turn of events. Hastily he begins to gather our belongings as I stare at him bewildered. He flings them all messily into our packs. I grab his arm before he can whirl past me _._ His grey-blue eyes are akin to a storm at sea. I hear his fast and heavy breathing (he never breathes heavily, not even from physical exertion in the midst of battle), and I am startled by the flash of savage viciousness I see when he stares back at me. I take a firm hold of his lean wrist, feeling the rush of his pulse.

"Legolas, peace, please calm yourself my friend. We cannot proceed in this manner." I drag him to the opening and take both his hands in my own. They are shaking. I brace my arm around his shoulders and hold him tightly, close to me. His breath hitches.

We stand looking down into the ravine and he yields to my stilling hold.

"Legolas, breathe with me," I bid him worriedly.

And I am glad to see him attempting to breathe with me, deeply and slowly.

The setting sun plunges the desert sky into a sort of peaceful, quiet beauty. The crystal water has disappeared from the valley below. Yet the plants are green and blossoming, gifted with the ability to use the slightest drop hidden in the ground and transform it into life energy; storing it for days, drawing nourishment from it.

We breathe together, and he seems to be soothed by the sight of the green essence of life.

* * *

We follow the large group of men, orcs and prisoners at a distance, hiding behind the various rocks and boulders in the jagged and rocky terrain. I watch Legolas as he revels in the beauty and wonder created by The One. His long, slender fingers brush the sappy green leaves as we pass by bushes and small trees. He touches them fleetingly, almost casually. I notice how they soothe the turmoil in his soul; he quietens. They conjure a soft smile on his fine face. These plants are a rare source of life before we leave this valley and head for the open desert, making them all the more precious. I want to give him some time to appreciate them.

I have nearly regained my usual strength. Still, we dare not risk an attack. The party is well guarded, as if in expectation of an ambush.

Soon, the vastness of the sandy landscape forces us to leave more space between us and the group we are following. We must avoid discovery. There is nothing to hide behind, only dunes that draw themselves as large, motionless waves in a sea of sand.

The column we pursue is proceeding rather slowly. They are dragging their prisoners, chained together in one line by their wrists and ankles. The poor children are more stumbling than walking, and when they fall, their captors beat them. Legolas flinches beside me as if he is taking the blows himself. In spite of their agony, those young ones still hold themselves surprisingly straight and with their heads upright, enduring and proud.

We walk all night, without rest under the chilly desert sky. I imagine the measure of suffering of the young ones brought on by fatigue, pain and harsh temperatures. And I feel Legolas silently suffering by my side.

The stars are twinkling as if trying to speak hope into all hurting hearts, and the moon is looking down in silent compassion.

* * *

Slowly the lights of the night fade into the increasingly brightening sky, announcing the rising of Anor. We reach the ridge of the dune that separates us from the party we are following when the first rays cast by the rising sun gently brush over it.

What appears before our eyes at some distance in the landscape below casts a shadow of dread upon my heart. Legolas' gaze is impenetrable. He is perfectly quiet, as he watches the large stronghold partly built of rough stone-walls, and partly caved into a huge massive of rocks protruding from sandy ground, dark-grey and menacing.

I have known Legolas for so long, and yet I fail to understand these sudden changes in behaviour. What is it that makes him freeze, when before he was a bundle of tension breaking free?

"This place is evil." He states, his voice deep and grave.

Behind the uppermost crest of the dune, we lie flat on the sand. We see the party enter the grim stronghold through a tall gate. My heart sinks as I watch the children disappear into the vile place.

The cover of the night has given away to the growing brightness of day. The sand glitters almost merrily in the crisp morning light. We urgently need to find shelter against unwanted eyes and the increasingly burning sun.

I search the dry landscape with an urgent gaze, and my eyes are drawn by a vision appearing in the distance. A group of blue shimmering riders in one line approaches at a rapid pace.

I exchange an alarmed glance with Legolas, and I know that he has seen the same. There is nothing to shield our presence on top of the dune. We are completely exposed. Any cover would be appreciated at the moment.

"Legolas, the chain of rocks down there! Run!" I shout, "We cannot afford to get captured."

But Legolas does not react to my warning. He stares at the blue-veiled riders wide-eyed.

The threat is fast approaching. - What is he doing?!

I yank him with me as I rush forward. He stumbles slightly and then as if pulled out of a spell, he follows, easily running for the saving rocks.

We find a shallow recess in the cliff, which offers much-needed protection. I catch my breath, composing myself after the sprint. I cannot understand Legolas and his behaviour presently.

I shout at him, "What is the matter with you, Legolas?! Are you mad?! Do you want us to get captured?"

Legolas is calm, his eyes still wide and lost in the distance.

"Estel, did you not feel it? - An imposing appearance they are. Beauty and elegance in the strangest of ways _._ I could hardly tear my eyes away."

He does not see sense, caught as he is in his fascination.

I huff and shake my head. I am beside myself with indignation.

"You _are_ mad! Imposing they looked indeed!... and dangerous!"

He does not answer. He turns away from me, almost irked, scanning the land around us. I take a deep breath to calm myself and run a hand through my tangled hair. I cannot reach him at the moment, he is ignoring me. It is unnerving when he behaves like this.

From where we are, the entrance of the stronghold, down on the lower level, appears in full view, while we get the cover we need from a huge rock formation barring the recess.

Legolas suddenly becomes distressed. He peeks around a rock, and in that instant, I know that if I do not hold him back he will be off, following whatever intriguing thought just crossed his breezy mind. I am not sure whether this will be good. So I take hold of his arm and pull him back slightly. He abruptly turns his face towards me, frowning, and shrugs my hand off.

"I will go watch for a sign of the riders." He says firmly.

I am not surprised. In fact, it is what I guessed and would want to prevent.

"Allow _me_ to go!" I offer with pleading eyes, but without any hope of understanding.

"No!" he instantly prompts, as expected. "I will go. I can sense they are close. I will find them."

I let out a sigh of defeat and rub my brow wearily.

"Legolas please, be careful!"

I give up and say nothing again. I do not want to offend him.

He laughs as clear as a bell. - He laughs at me! I remark he is not angry, and somehow I am bewildered.

"Why do you not trust me? You know that I am always careful," he answers brightly, as he climbs around the rock and disappears without awaiting a reply.

I feel even more unease now that he is gone. He was behaving so strangely before. I know of his sudden changes of spirit, I know him well enough. And yet all that has happened let me suspect that he is not acting like himself. He is much more unpredictable than usual, even for him.

But perhaps I am the one that is not himself. I rub my head because it has started throbbing. I have not drunk more than a few sips since we left the valley, and thirst begins to take its toll on me. I take another small sip from my water skin. I have to ration it. We do not know how long it will be until we can fill our supplies again. Legolas has even refused to drink a single drop. He says he does not need it yet, and I might soon need it much more than he. I know he is right. But still, I am uncomfortable with it. He says I worry too much for him.

Before I can worry further, Legolas returns, landing before me with a graceful leap from the cliff.

"What have you seen? Where are the riders?" I ask him straight away.

He does not reply immediately, narrowing his eyes in consideration of something.

"I could not find them," he says thoughtfully, "They have simply disappeared, like a false image in the heat of the burning sun, vanished into the glimmering air of a desert day..." he frowns.

I furrow my brow incredulously. I cannot believe that Legolas would find no sign of them. Nay, not Legolas... he can detect anything, his senses are keen...

"The air has not yet reached its full heat in this early morning for the apparition to be a mirage," I say alarmed.

But Legolas seems not at all unsettled, only musing.

"They are no mirage! I can feel their presence, despite finding no proof. It can only mean that they do not want to be found, and they are good at it!" He seems not at all vexed by the fact that he failed to detect the riders, and a strange fascination gleams in his eyes, now lost again in the distance.

I look at him with scepticism, "I am sure they have seen us. It disturbs me that they seem to have disappeared. I have a strange feeling that we have been followed." I am irritated.

Legolas is still beside me, too still for him.

"We _have_ been followed. They might even know where we are, maybe watching our moves. - Still, my senses tell me that they are no foes." He says determinedly.

He looks wary, but also strangely thrilled.

It does not really disperse my concerns. "I only hope, your senses are right. – But what could they want here?!... That is what worries me. "

* * *

We peer out from behind our hiding place. There is plenty of activity, coming and going, into and from the fortress. Various men carrying goods on camelback or horseback, Northerners and Haradrim of different clothing and skin colour, even an oliphaunt passed the immense, guarded gate.

"It should be possible to move unnoticed inside the building. We can easily melt into the different travellers who populate it," I utter my thoughts aloud, "...if we find a way to pass the gate, that is. Once in, it looks to be much easier to leave the fortress. They control the incomers thoroughly, but not the ones leaving. We must stay alert and catch any opportunity."

The day grows progressively hot, the temperatures reach unbearable peaks. Too long we wait. Legolas shifts more and more beside me, becoming impatient, and I am suffering from the heat. We have to make it on this day, or we will be forced to move back, and look for water. Legolas has drunk just the slightest indispensable part since he has left the remaining rations to me. He would never admit it, but I know that he is on the brink, so even for him it would be unsustainable to stand the next day in the burning heat without a drop; even more so would it be for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and of course I would appreciate your comments ;)  
> Thank you Ruiniel for always being encouraging!


	3. The Desert - Captive

_(Aragorn)_

"Estel! Our access drives in," Legolas whispers excitedly.

Finally, after a long while spent in attentive monitoring, our waiting seems to bear fruit. A caravan of humans and carts drawn by mules passes the edge around the rocks and skids to a halt not far from us.

The two men in the lead seem to be engaged in an argument about some matter of payment, gesticulating and yelling at each other. One is tall and large, with a thick, dark beard and bald-headed. The other is short and wiry with straw-like grey hair, a thick moustache and a particularly grumpy face.

Their loud quarrel seems to be nothing unusual since the other men of the party look thoroughly bored by the squabbling. Some exchange impatient looks, rolling their eyes.

"What a party to travel with! Not exactly my choice if you ask me!" Legolas grimaces.

I lift an eyebrow at him, and smirk mirthlessly, "We do not have the luxury of choice I fear…"

Our sighs come simultaneously and then we exchange a nod of agreement. Stealthily we sneak along the rocks, towards the back of the last cart.

The men are fully focused on the front of the caravan, and so, unnoticed we slide into the wooden vehicle, silently concealing between the barrels under the cover-panel. I still hear the muffled voices of the quarrelers, when with a jolt the cart begins to move.

The convoy suddenly stops once more. We must be at the gate to the stony burg. I hold my breath as I hear the guards ask the leaders about the goods they are carrying. The shuffle of a panel thrown back from the cart just in front of ours reaches my ears. My heart skips several beats and I glance at Legolas. I can see him share my anxiety, he bites his bottom lip returning my gaze and mirroring the same tension.

"Finally!" one of the guards exclaims, "You are most welcome! Our reserves are nearly finished, and the feast coming up this night is going to be an event of great import. Not to mention what would have happened if you had not arrived in time!" he laughs rudely.

Legolas releases his breath shutting his eyes in relief, as the cart rumples over the stony ground and rolls through the gate.

The light dims. We peer out from a gap between the cover panel and the wooden border of the cart. The entrance hall is huge. A high corridor leads deep inside the mountain. Several smaller corridors lead away from the main aisle. The contrast between the bright desert sun and the dim, torch-lit inside of the stone-building is striking.

Legolas warily scans the corridors as we are driven along, and so do I, focusing my attention towards an opportunity for us to leap out of the vehicle. We reach a room that seems to be part of the cellars of this huge cave-like fortress. This is a dead-end. In mute agreement, we soundlessly skid out from under our cover, and sneak further away, between boxes and barrels. I hear the men's chatter, while they unload the full barrels and successively upload as many of the empty ones the wooden carts can take.

"I need a rest after all this," says the tall, big man with the beard, yawning. "We have orders to leave in the late hours of the night before the morning sun will hit this forsaken land. The reserves we brought will be finished within days, and the landlord will not be pleased if we tarry long. These cursed fellows are drinking like camels!"

"That is no wonder in this damned, torrid land!" the short one with the grumpy face mutters. That one seems to be in a particularly bad mood.

It looks like the guard of the cellar knows them well, since he pats the other men's shoulder.

"Take your men and get some rest. Landlord Garanol has a special reward for the ones bringing him the precious liquid. You will be sent for, tonight. There is young, tender flesh for enjoyment; just arrived this morning. The girls are pretty, not to mention the two boys... you will see! We are introducing them to their new lives this night, the little whores," he chuckles rubbing his palms.

"This invitation is surely lifting our mood!" The big one joins the guard in his dirty laughter, and the short, straw-haired one nods his head, grinning, with a hungry, disgusting glint in his small eyes.

I shake my head in disbelief, my stomach clenches with disgust at the gruesome nature of the conversation. I see, from the corner of my eye, how Legolas tenses and steels his jaw. His hands twitch. I suddenly fear he might leap at the men and strangle them instantly. I have to absolutely prevent any folly from his side. We have to get out of here, as long as the guard is not on his post.

I gently lay my hand upon Legolas' shoulder. My firm touch redirects his attention once more. I know that mainly I have this effect on him. His gaze flickers strangely as it meets mine, but I do not try to fathom what is going on inside of him.

I motion with my head towards the open door. And I am glad as he accepts my suggestion.

We sneak around piles of boxes and barrels, making our way towards the opening. I throw a last glance to the men engaged in conversation, and then we cover the small distance, disappearing into the corridor. My heart still hammers hard inside my chest as I lean my head back onto the wall and try to calm my nerves.

We pull our hoods over our heads to conceal our hair and features and try to behave as relaxed and inconspicuous as possible as we stride along the corridor. I hear the men behind us leave the cellar.

"We must find out where they are taking rest," I whisper. Legolas does not respond, but I know he agrees.

We walk on slowly. The men behind proceed in our direction. Legolas suddenly holds me by my sleeve, we look back over our shoulders, just before the men disappear into a side-passage. It is always astonishing for me to observe how finely his ears are tuned, that he can detect any change of movement from a distance without the need to see. We turn on our heels to follow the small party.

The men hold in front of a door. We walk on past the traders who enter their chambers. Nobody gives us any heed, fortunately, as I had suspected and hoped. Legolas' light is well concealed under his cloak.

This passage leads us to a main corridor. Here more people are circulating. The kitchens must be situated on this aisle as there is the smell of food wafting through the air. Servants walk up and down with pots and boxes full of nourishment. My stomach rumbles fiercely at the alluring smell. It is too long since the last time we have had anything proper to eat.

This corridor joins the main hall we have seen from under the panel. The sounds of many voices reach my ears. Different people, of different origins, are gathered around tables, where food and drinks are served.

I steal a glance at Legolas and I twinkle, hoping he understands my need, and I can see him grin from under his hood. - We will not miss this opportunity!

We sit down at a table, and promptly a steaming meal and a cup of mead are placed before each of us. We eat without a word. I wonder at myself and at what lack of food can do. It tastes delicious. Even in the worst of companies.

I can see Legolas finding it more difficult than me to enjoy his meal. He wrinkles his nose and fiddles with his fork in between. I know the smells inside this place assail him violently and not even the delight of this rich meal can make them disappear. The men sitting at our table are only one of these sources of dreadful scents. They are Northerners, and they smell of their bodies' struggle on a long journey through the hot, dry land. I do not think they had contact with water before they came to enjoy their meal. I feel sympathy for Legolas who feels it most intensely, as I myself try to focus on my food.

Nevertheless, I overhear the men's conversation. And they unknowingly provide valuable information; The Lord of this place will be giving a feast tonight. He has invited many of his trusted allies and traders. I notice that the men in the hall are in a good mood, preparing their minds and bellies for the festivities.

I cannot believe our luck. This coincidence comes right on cue. It will be much easier to walk unnoticed with innumerate guests populating the place, and everybody's attention focused on the feast. Not to talk of the ale which will be flowing in abundance and dulling the men's senses. This is very good news indeed!

* * *

Lanterns and torches on the walls light the corridors. They appear more sparse the deeper we get into the complicated labyrinth of tunnels and rooms. I feel Legolas' unease at the darkness and the stone surrounding us. Though he does not mention it. I know that the determination to find those youths discards all else at the moment, even to the point of acting irrationally. And so it is I who gives voice to what my reasoning tells me.

"Legolas, I want to find them as much as you do. That is the reason we are in here instead of on our way home. But it is pointless to search further within this tangle of corridors and holes. Only by pure coincidence, or luck, we would find them within the next few hours, and besides, somebody might get suspicious about two guests snooping around deep into the narrow shafts."

I am relieved how quickly Legolas agrees at my suggestion to make our way back to the chambers where the traders, who unknowingly have smuggled us in, are resting. We will wait and follow them, when they will be led to the captives, according to the guard's promise.

We find a small, dark enclosure where we can keep the traders' door under observation. It provides protection from any eyes passing our way.

The sounds of the beginning feast grow louder. Music plays. Shouts and laughter melt with the indistinguishable sounds of voices in eager conversations. From time to time men pass to join the feast. Even a group of orcs uttering the charring black speech make their way along the corridor.

Finally, a guard walks down the passage and halts in front of the traders' sleeping room. He knocks hard against the door. The rough, sleepy, bearded face of the big man appears and the door swings open.

"Sir, Lord Garanol has sent for you. He is going to honour his promise. If you wish, my Lord invites you to the privilege of initializing young, untouched flesh," the guard speaks to the man.

"We will be right on our way!" the man prompts and disappears inside the room.

In a short time both men, the big one and the smallish one, leave their chamber to follow the guard.

I can say Legolas is anxious beyond measure as we follow at a distance. It took him a great amount of effort to keep still in our hiding place and now that he is on the move again his muscles are eager to release all the accumulated tension. I am afraid that he might spring into the scene as soon as we reach our aim. I have to keep an eye on him.

We walk deep into the mountain through a wild tangle of tunnels and rooms of different sizes. I try my best to imprint the way through this labyrinth into my memory.

At the moment, fortunately, this part of the stronghold seems deserted. That is until the men enter an unlit aisle. We cannot see them, but we hear their voices. They greet some other men who must already have been there, and join their talking and laughing. I cannot hear what they say. But I know Legolas does, and so I keep perfectly quiet as he listens.

"There… is where they keep the young ones," he whispers, bringing a finger to his lips to indicate that he is still listening, as the voices quiet.

He stares into the void as if there he sees what his sensitive ears discern, "A key turns in a lock... metal creaks… a gate springs open... muffled voices…"

He frowns, "I cannot make out the words..."

Suddenly, he lifts a hand as if hushing me, altough I am still completely silent. He startles me.

"Stone scratches against stone…" he continues. My heart skipped a beat, but when I see he is still quietly listening, I allow my now rushing breath to even again.

"And now a thud… and… nothing again…" he narrows his eyes and strains to listen intensively.

"There is something else! …a soft whimpering and sobbing."

His eyes widen in recognition and he moves fast and gracefully into the dark aisle without alerting me. I can do nothing but follow.

We flatten our backs against the stone wall as we slowly move on in the dark.

There is nobody guarding the metal gate, where the men must have entered before. Only the flickering light of glowing lanterns shines through. Now I hear it too, the distressed whimpering and sobbing. There is something like a window, or rather a barred hole to the dark passage we are in. Through which it is possible to see into the cell without being noticed, given the darkness in the shaft. The barren gate is a dozen feet further away from the window hole.

Inside the cell, fixed all around on the walls, are metal rings, manacles, collars and shackles. In the middle of the room stand two poles equipped with the same metal makeshifts, like the ones on the walls.

Two youths, clothed in dusty, torn garments, are secured to each a pair of the manacles which leave their arms suspended, tied back to the wall. They are downed to their knees, their heads hanging, their feet are shackled, their bodies slumped forward. It is a miserable sight. The boy's hair at shoulder length and the girl's long to her waist, raven black, hang in strands over their sagged heads, obscuring their faces. I gasp in horror. Legolas' eyes are wide and unblinking as he takes in the sight. I can see how he struggles to keep his emotions under control. He had been a youth like them then, not in years, but in a similar stage of maturity. I know that he cannot let this go on, and neither can I. I lay my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it comfortingly. Our eyes meet in the semi-darkness. His are fiery with anger, they glow in the dark.

"I will find out where the others are being kept. That stone-door inside the cell must be the connection to other such rooms. I guess that is not the only way. This aisle might get me there as well. I am going to find out. I will go alone, I will be swift and silent," he announces in a low, controlled voice. His determination is obvious. I argue not. He is old enough. He is much older than I, even if at times I feel like I have to protect him.

"Please, be careful," I plead, "I do not like this situation at all!" But when his mind is made I know there is no way to dissuade him. He is not a child, not at all.

"In the meantime, I will discover how that lock on the gate can be cracked. There is a high possibility that all the locks around here are functioning by the same mechanism."

It will not only distract me from the worry of our insane mission but it will also be useful in buying us precious time. We have to be fast to make up our plan of escape if we want to free the youths. It all has to happen this night. There will be no more feast tomorrow. It is our only opportunity.

"Now go, or I might change my mind!" I frown. I hate to separate from Legolas under these circumstances, but before I can worry further, Legolas moves away into the dark, narrow shaft that will lead him around the cell. I watch him disappear, swift and silent like a cat. For a moment my heart clenches with fear.

I force myself to my task. I fish the pin which I am usually carrying on me for such cases from my pocket, and I approach the metal gate. Silently I explore the lock.

I have to bend the small, pointed item at the right angle... It will not be too difficult. I can make it. I keep so silent the children do not even notice me.

My father has taught me well.

My ability to open nearly any lock that exists in Middle-Earth has proved useful several times. It has saved my own life and many more.

As a child, it was so much fun to open almost any door on my way, to find out what was behind it, or just for the sake of it. My brothers saved me from trouble because of that habit more than once, until master Elrond had to intervene.

'To be able to open locks does not mean you must do it any time you encounter one. It is an ability meant to be used only in case of dire need. Only therefore I taught you, my son.'

Sometimes what was clear to my father, was not that obvious to me. But all he explained, I took very seriously, and from then on I did not get into trouble again - at least not for opening locks.

I smile at the memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and of course I would appreciate your comments ;)  
> Thank you Ruiniel for always being encouraging!


	4. The Desert - Veiled in Blue

Legolas slid into a dark corner. There was the same hole secured by metal bars to this cell. His assumption had been right. He could see the men and the captives from his hiding place; two girls, their hands chained to the wall behind them, their feet laid in shackles: the same image he and Aragorn had encountered before on the other side. The youths' heads hanging, they avoided looking at the men standing before them.

A dozen in number, the 'guests' watched them with greedy eyes as a lavishly garbed man, whom Legolas assumed was the Lord of the fortress, boasted about his new acquisitions. Two guards stood in front of the narrow, open gate but they seemed at ease and not overly watchful. They were instead rather focused on what was happening inside the cell.

"Are they not pretty _?_ " the man who seemed to be the Lord praised, stepping close to one of the girls and tipping her chin up with his finger, so the men could see her face. Fear was written on her features and in her dark eyes before she closed them as if attempting to shut out the dreadful image of the men so openly staring at her.

"A pack of dirty Haradrim! These ones are quite fair, only lightly brownish tinged. Brats of those desert folk rats; a proud, arrogant breed, who would rather die than bend. But look how pretty their whelps are!"

"Indeed they are, Lord Garanol!" One of the men spoke with a greedy grin.

Garanol stroked the girl's arm with feigned tenderness, fingers trailing up to her shoulder, and then wrapped his hand shortly around her neck. She tensed, pressing her eyes closed.

"... not dark like the last brats from Far Harad. These are far more gracious than those dark Far-Haradrim with their stronger build. Those ones have served their purpose as well, I admit. Though _these_ are little jewel-whores."

He slid his hand through the other girl's long, black hair. His fingers tangled into the strands at the back of her head and he pulled roughly, forcing her head up. A small cry escaped her lips.

"Their skin is so even, so young! Literally screaming to be touched! I am pleased indeed to offer you this opportunity!"

The girl opened her eyes for a moment. They went wide with horror as she stared from one man to the other, terrified, before she shut her lids again. Her whole body trembled.

Legolas stood flat against the wall, observing the scene. He felt fear surging through his own body; the same emotions he had gone through centuries ago. He remembered it all as if it had passed just the day before. His mind swirled, his body froze. His breathing quickened.

As he looked around him, breathing deeply and trying to regain control over his body and mind, he discovered an opening a bit further away in the wall opposite the cell. It was in a dark corner, where the light of the cell's lanterns reached not. He directed his attention and listened. He could discern yet more whimpering and a soft rattling of chains.

He surmised that was where the remaining children must be held.

The distraction helped him regain control of his senses.

He had to see closer, to determine if both remaining children were held in that place. When they returned to free them, they would need to know straight ahead where to go.

As he considered how to make his way there unnoticed, to his amazement he spotted two veiled figures moving swiftly and silently around the corner from the opposite side. One slipped into the darkened room, and the other stood perfectly still, flattened to the unlit wall, concealed by his long, dark garment. Legolas' elven eyes could see, even in this shadowed place, that the colour of his veil was blue.

'The blue riders!' the thought pierced his mind like lightning.

He suddenly knew what they were there for.

He listened to the soft sounds; a crackling of metal and hushed whispers coming from the darkened room where the blue-veiled figure had disappeared.

So focused on these new happenings he was, that the elf started when he heard the man they called Lord Garanol say: "You can have these ones! Do with them whatever pleases you. Just the ones I have shown you before, in the other cell, I am saving for myself alone," he grinned, "I will send the guards to get the remaining two. Go ahead!"

It took Legolas no more than a heartbeat to realize that it was now about to happen; that, which he could not allow. The girls were so frightened, it broke his heart. And if the guards went to get the others from the room behind, they might discover the veiled rescuers.

He had to act, and swiftly!

Dashing out of his hiding place, his bow highly strung, he shot the surprised guards faster than they could blink. He leapt through the gate. Cold anger flashed in his grey-blue eyes as he drew his knives for close combat. The men were astonished and afeared when met with the icy fury of the elf. They grabbed their weapons and sprung into attack; thirteen against one.

Legolas nimbly avoided their blades, ducking, twisting and spinning around in a wild dance. His twin knives struck flesh, injuring one man's shoulder and another one's forearm. A third one was unlucky enough to draw too close in his attack. Legolas drove his blade deep into the man's chest. A surprised outcry left the human's throat, and as Legolas jerked his knife out of the body, it bumped heavily to the floor and did not rise again.

The men realized, that even if numerically superior, they could hardly withstand the viciousness and speed of this fierce fighter. Before Legolas could accomplish the next lethal blow, he heard a frantic voice shout out.

"Cease! Drop your weapons or she will die!"

Legolas halted mid-movement. His eyes locked on Garanol, whom the voice had come from, and he saw how the man had pulled the girl's head back by her long hair, his blade ready to cut her slender throat. Legolas' eyes widened in shock.

"Drop them! Now!" Garanol yelled, pressing the blade tighter against the tender skin, drawing blood.

The girl gasped in fear.

Legolas had no choice. His knives fell to the ground with a clang. The men immediately secured him, grabbing each one of his arms, and twisting them painfully behind his back. He could have freed himself, they could not match his strength… but there was the girl, and the knife at her throat.

He was trapped.

His thoughts swirled uncontrollably. He steeled his jaw, but inside, secretly he panicked.

_No! They could not have him! No!_

The memory of past times when men had captured him crept over him like a nightmare and he struggled against the men's hold, almost yanking himself free.

"Hold him!" Garanol yelled and pushed the stone door open. It took more of them, with united efforts, to keep the struggling elf under control.

"Bring him to the other side and bind him to the poles!" their Lord barked.

* * *

Aragorn had worked the pin into the lock of the barren gate. Turning it slightly, he carefully lifted the barb and the lock sprung open.

He had not the time to let the feeling of satisfaction sink in, as suddenly the heavy stone door sprung open with a scratching sound. He instantly retired back into the cover of shadow behind the barred window-hole.

His heart sank as he saw the men shove the struggling golden-haired being through the door with difficulty.

"I thought all your kind have disappeared from the Southern Lands. Yet, it seems not so. Still helping the desert folk, interfering in the best of moments... humm?!" Garanol shouted in anger and struck Legolas full force in the stomach.

The elf bent over at the aggressive blow as the air was forced out of his lungs.

The men took advantage of the elf's pain to secure his hands and feet to the metal rings.

Legolas twisted and yanked against the ropes binding him, but it was useless. He only caused the ropes to cut into his flesh.

After the initial shock, Aragorn prepared to rush to the aid of his friend. The gate lay open now. He knew, the probability to face them all alone and succeed was small, but he had to try. He could not bear to leave Legolas in the hands of these men any longer. He refused even to think of what they would do to the elf. He had no other choice.

If he made it to cut Legolas' bonds... there would be two of them...

Before he could spring forward, a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder and he felt a blade placed to his throat. Aragorn gasped in surprise.

How could he have been caught as unawares as this _?_!

He had heard absolutely nothing approach, not a single warning.

How could that be?!

"Shhh!" the being holding him summoned softly into his ear from behind, holding the knife with unmistakable determination.

Aragorn dared not to move. From the corner of his eyes, he tried to catch sight of his captor. He glimpsed slender, long fingers on his shoulder and a blue sleeve drawn over the hand.

Was it the hand of a young woman?

Aragorn perceived the hold on him as firm, but not rough, rather gentle if that could be possible with a blade to his throat.

Immobilized like this, he had no choice but to watch the happenings.

* * *

"But then again..." Garanol exclaimed, his wicked face turning to a greedy grin, "Look what opportunity offers to us... - Yes, we have young, tender flesh waiting to be initiated..."

He cupped the bound children's chins upwards roughly, while they desperately pressed their eyes closed, "...but what about having our fun with an elf? - The children will go nowhere... In the meantime, they can watch!"

He stepped toward Legolas who had given up struggling against his bonds. He glared instead at the men around him with cold hate in his piercing, blue eyes. He was desperately trying to keep his pride and anger about him as a protective wall, while inside of him the fear made his heart race and his breath come short.

Legolas flinched despite himself as the vile Lord reached out and roughly tore his shirt open. He felt like he was placed back into the nightmare he had experienced so long ago. The situation, exactly rebuilt, as real now as it was then. He desperately struggled to pull his wrists from the bonds holding him, which only made the ropes cut deeper into his skin.

His thoughts drifted to the trees of his home. He needed to reach out to them, cry to them of his agony. But they were far and could not soothe nor help him, his silent cries lost on their way.

"Look at how pretty he is, the elf-boy!" Garanol teased, cupping Legolas' face with his hand.

Legolas then tried to send his mind into the sky; deep blue and bright with Anor's golden light. He longed to lose himself in its infinity. But the sky was debarred from him, outside over the vast desert. And he was trapped.

He pulled away in disgust. As a reaction, Garanol unexpectedly grabbed his dagger and buried it into the elf's shoulder, just beneath his collarbone. Legolas bit back a cry. Before he could get control of the sudden pain, the dagger slashed into his side. He gasped and jerked at the repeated attack.

He tried to imagine a small waterfall in spring, rushing into a clear pond. His body diving in the rushing, cool and pure water. But all he could feel was the sharp pain of his injuries.

"This will teach you not to fight me when I touch you, elf!" Garanol spat in anger.

* * *

Aragorn winced at the blow striking his friend. He felt the young woman behind him tense, but she released not her firm grip on him.

The men watched their Lord hitting and threatening the elf, with a broad grin on their faces.

A sharp punch made Legolas' head drop back. When he lifted it up again, his lip was split, and his eyes glared at Garanol hard and cold.

"You are a coward! Stealing children to satisfy your foul and beastly desires! I will kill you! All of you!" Legolas' voice sliced low and lethal.

"You are not in a position to threaten me, elf!"

The filthy Lord stepped close, "He seems so proud, the pretty boy! Never did I expect to get a fair one like this to enjoy! Gentlemen, after I am done, every one of you can have his turn with him!"

Aragorn felt his anger flare. Anger and despair. He burned to kill this woman. He was about to shatter with the need to eliminate anything that prevented him to help his friend. But she held him firm.

* * *

Legolas tensed, attempting to rein the trembling of his body.

_No! It could not be! He would not survive this time. Those children would see. They should not see! - Estel! Where was he? Had he been caught?_

If not so, Legolas hoped he would not risk capture in coming to his aid. He hoped his friend would flee, save himself. Or come to him later with a plan. Yet he knew, that was not very likely of the ranger.

_Perhaps he had been captured. Perhaps he would be forced to watch. - No! He just should not see! His friend should not see his weakness, his shame!_

Legolas' breath quickened uncontrollably, as Garanol spread the blood on his lips with his thick fingers and slowly stroked down over his chin and throat. He pressed on Legolas' airway until the elf gasped for breath before he traced down the line in the middle of the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. The cruel Lord's voice and the glint in his eyes betrayed his greedy lust.

Legolas then tried to find in his mind the moon and the stars in the night. But the moon was pale and the stars about to fade. And all he saw was increasing, menacing darkness.

"How tender this fair flesh is! Perfectly smooth! The pride will be gone from your pretty, blue eyes very soon, little fawn!" Garanol menaced, remarking the distress betrayed through the tense body of his prisoner.

* * *

Aragorn felt helpless. Forced to watch his friend in the agony of his deepest fear, he saw how the elf shuddered in his despair.

_No..._

_It could not happen before his eyes! He had to stop it!_

It was to him as if the being holding him trembled slightly as the events went on, and he dared to turn his head slowly, seeking her face. He met dark eyes glistening with compassion, and a face under a blue veil.

He should have killed her! - Instead, his eyes pleaded. But the veiled woman did not relent her grip on him, slowly shaking her head.

"Not yet..." she breathed, only audible to the ranger's ears, the knife pressed hard against his throat. She did not wish to, but Aragorn felt like she would not hesitate to kill him if he fought her. His throat burned, from the pressure of the blade and from the pain of this twisted turn of events.

Suddenly, two blue-clothed figures slid past them, their footsteps silent. They nodded curtly to Aragorn's captor and rushed towards the gate; their movements stealthy and swift, their garments covering everything but their hands and their eyes, crowning their heads in a turban-like shape.

"Now!" the woman hissed the whispered command into Aragorn's ear and released her hold on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In these times reading and writing is much of a reprieve to me. Even if the time for it is scarse with the kids at home and work to pursue. When I finish reading the news and do not want to worry nor even think anymore about what is going on in the world, I dive into middle-earth. I am so grateful to the amazing authors who share their creations to make this possible. And I hope I can also contribute to give a little distraction to some of you.
> 
> Thank you so much Ruiniel for beta-reading; it is an honour to have an awesome writer like you supporting me.
> 
> Thank you for reading. And please consider leaving a comment. It would mean much to me to hear your thoughts. Stay safe!


	5. The Desert - Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Ruiniel for beta-reading.  
> Thanks for reading, and I wish you all stay well.

They came flying through the gate, two tall figures in a flurry of flowing blue. Then at once two gasps of dying men neatly speared by flashing swords resounded in the air, and at first, Legolas could not comprehend this beauty of violence. Until the vile, molesting hands released him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest with the sudden rush of adrenaline when he saw Aragorn race to his aid. His friend's face was stern and controlled as he swiftly cut the wicked bonds around his wrists and ankles.

He was beyond relieved for his freedom, but chaos had now erupted all around him.

"Hannon-le, mellon-nìn!" He whispered. Aragorn threw him his dagger which Legolas seized firmly, now prepared for combat.

He was a free warrior yet again.

The wounds in his shoulder and his side bled and throbbed but he ignored them. He fought the men who had leered at him obtrusively with nothing but a dagger and his bare hands. The hate they had awoken within him spurred him, and he felt the wilderness he normally kept at bay rushing, as the boiling blood shot through his veins. He could see they feared him, and he relished the feeling.

His knives lay on the other side, out of his reach, where he had been forced to let them fall. How he longed for them now!

He could see a veiled female figure struggling to free the children from their chains. His senses had been correct with regards to these beings, and their unlikely alliance fascinated him _._ Aragorn hurried to the woman's aid, he expertly cracked the locks enabling them to flee. Legolas saw her slight frame press against the stone door, the children near by her side. And in the midst of battle, he was astonished to see the heavy portal suddenly wide open, and his knives lying in the threshold.

"Hannon-le!" He whispered to the retreating form.

The elven blades glinted in the lantern-light like jewels to his eyes. His spirits soared and his hands welcomed them with cheer. He took control of his familiar, deadly weapons as if they were a natural extension of his limbs. He felt a feral thirst of revenge take over.

Aragorn saw. He caught the change in him. He knew his friend was ready. He had learnt to read him.

"Go!" he shouted to the blue-veiled men and nodded at the elf, "Take the children away from here!"

The veiled men hesitated, but after exchanging a brief look of agreement one of them rushed after the children.

Immersed in the fight, Legolas nearly startled at the rush of thrilling satisfaction that pulsed through his veins, anytime he felt the sickening sound of blade slashing into flesh. He renounced the thought that these were humans, who had been born unmarred by evil before it pulled them to its side. Compassion had no place in battle, he had learned this over the years. This ability was fundamental to survive centuries and millennia. His final aim of vengeance was their filthy lord, who had dared touch his skin.

But the man managed to take advantage of the turmoil, skidded through the barren gate and ran away. Legolas dashed to follow him.

His wounds throbbed. They slowed him. But nevertheless, he swiftly reached the fleeing enemy, who was about to scream his throat raw through the clangorous passages. Legolas could not allow him to raise the entire stronghold against them. He slammed the man into the wall with one aimed kick between the shoulder blades.

"Be silent, coward!" He hissed, standing tall before the gasping man.

The man's eyes were wide with dread as the elf's stare burned into him. His gaze slid fearfully over the fair being's upper body, whose muscles twitched dangerously, showing through his torn, open shirt. The elf wanted his tormentor to see, that what he thought smooth and wanted to turn weak, was now powerful and menacing. He wanted him to know that grace can kill.

In a desperate attempt to keep the enraged elf away the man attacked with frantic, uncontrolled moves of his sword.

But Legolas was faster than the other could even imagine. He ducked the blindly aggressive blows easily and slashed out one well-aimed stab.

With a surprised and disbelieving final expression on his face, the man tumbled back against the wall. And there he slid to the ground, eyes wide-open and glazed.

Legolas breathed heavily as he wiped his bloodied knife on the fallen leader's tunic. He did not want the blood of filth on his glinting blades. He had fulfilled his revenge. And suddenly the strain caused by his injuries crashed in on him. He held the burning wound in his side. It bled profusely. But then he heard steps running down the corridor and he turned abruptly, ready to pounce. His relief was great as he recognized it was Aragorn, accompanied by the blue-veiled man.

Without a word, Aragorn handed him his bow and quiver. Legolas nodded once, gratefully accepting his beloved weapons and sheathed his knives.

Aragorn clasped his friend's forearm, pulling him close. His gaze spoke concern as he took in the elf's injuries. And concern also marked his voice.

"Legolas, your wounds look bad. They need to be tended to!"

Legolas knew his friend was right, but he pulled away from him and protested, "I am fine. There is no time!"

He was an elf, his body could weather it. – Or so he hoped. - He had taken worse than this.

The man in blue was already on the move.

"Follow me!" He summoned in a low voice.

Aragorn did not argue with the elf, nor with the man who was pressing them on. Though it was obvious that Legolas was not fine, and he knew it as much as Aragorn did. He could see the healer's reluctance at neglecting it. Perhaps the ranger also nurtured hope that the elf's body could bear it.

In one thing they were right nevertheless, the veiled man and Legolas: There was no time to linger. The two friends hurried after their guide as he led them through the tangled corridors. He seemed to know his way perfectly.

Soon, they neared the fleeing group. The party moved slowly since the three men and the woman were supporting the weakened youths.

They came not one minute too early; Several men, followed by a mass of orcs, now raced towards the fugitives, cutting off their way and forcing them to detour into a side-tunnel. The gathered forces of the blue-veiled people were needed with the youths.

Legolas charged forward immediately followed by Aragorn. The archer's swift, precise arrows struck the first Orcs. As the enemies scurried too close, Legolas slung his bow on his back in favour of his knives. The man and the elf fought side by side, and together they covered the path of the fugitives against an overwhelming number of attackers. They ducked and slashed out, they fell the orcs who were sent into the front lines first. The dead beasts littered the passageway. None of them survived and only a few men still stood.

Legolas was strained from the injuries, but he could not afford to slow down now, and so he maintained the dizzying speed, ignoring his protesting body. He knew not how he did it. As if owing to a hidden source of energy, he endured.

They were close, so close at having battled down this rush!

But then more men appeared, garbed in the long, grey garments of the guards, racing towards them. Legolas' heart sank. It would not be possible for his weary body to keep up that rhythm for much longer.

The men who had joined the battle last, draw their swords, but to Legolas' surprise, they hit their enemies, fighting on their side. With their aid the fight was quickly won, the men and orcs all slain. Together they retreated towards the fleeing party.

The new men spoke to the blue-clad people in a foreign language Legolas could not understand. They urged them into hurry, highly alert, as if they expected another rush at any time, from any connecting passage, during their flight.

Their concerns were valid as another group of orcs and men suddenly appeared from a connecting corridor.

Aragorn and Legolas stayed behind with the men disguised as guards, to meet the new assault. Legolas immediately released arrow after arrow. They struck their targets each. The group was large, and soon the enemies drew close, forcing the elf to leave his bow in favour of his knives once more and join the others.

"Traitors!" The men shouted to the false guards.

Their attack was full of anger, but the combined fighting skills proved lethal. Then, just before it seemed all was ended, Legolas saw the young man close to him sink to his knees, hands pressed to his sternum. For a breath, he was overtaken by the abrupt, tragic turn. Rage flared in him and instantly he sliced the throat of the man who had landed the blow. His mind pounded painfully with sharp regret at being too late.

His companions came to his aid at once. Concern and despair showed in their amber-tinged faces, as they held the young, wounded man between them. They carried him, as the defenders caught up with the others. At a certain point, they commanded all to stop, speaking in the foreign language. One of the men unlocked a tiny door with the key he carried on his belt. A narrow shaft appeared behind it. They gave instructions in their language and dismissed the group of fugitives into it. Gently they committed their injured companion into Legolas' and Aragorn's arms.

"Take him with you. Our cover must not be blown. Bring him out! It is bad with him." They spoke in haste.

Legolas blamed himself for failing to prevent it all. He should have seen before the strike fell. He lowered his gaze, aware that Aragorn knew what was going on within him. He mostly did. And with a warm light in his eyes that only the elf could see, his friend sought to comfort him.

They slipped through the door holding the wounded youngster. His companions quickly locked it behind them. It was pitch-black in the passage and silent as a tomb. Their steps and breathing broke through the dull void. Following the dark tunnel, the elf's free hand groped along the wall. The air was thin and the narrow walls closed in on them mercilessly. The wounded man's breathing came shallow and ragged - as did Legolas'. But there was no space for the elf to worry about himself. They carried the weight of a young one he failed to defend.

Finally, after harrowing, complete darkness, daylight shimmered in, and soon they stumbled out into the dazzling light of the desert-morning.

Now, in the plain light of day, Legolas assessed the state of the youngster they carried. His face was no longer amber-tinged, but grey and pale. Cold sweat beaded on his skin, his hair was wet with it and stuck to his face. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Dark shades had formed under his almond eyes, and in his middle, the blood had stained a large, dark cloud upon the garment.

A wave of despair threatened to drown the elf. He should have prevented this! He cursed his own weakness, feeling crushed by the extent of his own injuries. His head swam, and he glanced at Aragorn in hope to receive a warm flash of light from his eyes. He could not crumble now. He was an elf. He could ever push over limits.

The veiled woman who walked before them, supporting one of the boys, glanced back over her shoulder. Concern and sorrow were clearly written in her eyes. They kept moving fast as there was no time for delay. They fled towards the rocks, behind the massive of the stronghold.

* * *

They gently lay the young man down by the shelter. The woman immediately hurried to their aid. Aragorn cut the fabric of his tunic and she peeled it away from the injury. Aragorn moved back respectfully. And Legolas stood completely still, feeling deepening powerlessness within.

Her eyes were blurred as she examined the wound and then lay her other hand on the young man's brow. The woman lifted her gaze to look into the hopeful, concerned faces around her. And then she closed her eyes, slowly lowering her head. A sad gesture indicating that there was nothing she could do to save him. Their eyes were wide and shimmered with retained tears.

Guilt and regret took hold of Legolas; a burning pain in the pit of his stomach, taking his breath away.

She kept her one hand comfortingly on the young man's brow. With the other, she took his hand and held it tight against his own heart, and she waited, just waited, patiently staying by his side, while he suffered the agony his wounded, dying body put him through.

He was so very young. Barely more than a child. Legolas should have prevented this, he accused himself, he had been so close…

In her eyes, the elf could see how she struggled through the pain with him. He heard her low whispers; soft soothing words in a language he did not understand.

After what seemed an unending time of agony, the body under her touch went limp, and her eyes fell shut. Her head sagged in relief and defeat.

Legolas was overwhelmed by the pain.

He felt Aragorn's warm hand softly on his shoulder. "This is not your fault, nobody blames you! Do not lay this weight upon yourself." He whispered. His gaze was warm and calm, to reassure his friend. His eyes were full of sorrow. He grieved as well.

And then, as if surging from the depth of the sand under them, Legolas heard her barely restrained cry of sharpest anguish. This desolate wail of utter agony soared into the sky above and pierced deep into his heart.

They did not blame him - but he did. The tragic scene replayed in his troubled mind relentlessly.

The colours and the forms blurred, they fused and spun around him, and then the world turned black.

* * *

He blinked confusedly at the bright light that assailed his eyes. Aragorn's handsome, familiar features slowly flickered into focus.

"Praise the Valar, you are returned to us," his voice drifted softly over the elf.

Burning pain swept across his side and shoulder. Aragorn frowned as he sensed his friend's discomfort, and quickly stopped his ministrations.

Legolas heard soft voices beside him. The children were perched against the rocks; exhausted, bruised and drained. His gaze locked on the slight, veiled figure who tenderly hovered over them. She offered water to drink and food to eat, for them to regain strength. She spread ointment on the bruises where the ropes and the metals had left their marks, and she gave them hugs, caresses and soft words, to cure the injuries deep within.

His mind slightly fogged, the elf watched the dedication she brought to the young ones; her soothing touches, her eyes patient, calm and comforting... He was strangely absorbed by the sight.

And then he saw Aragorn over him, firm and strong, he cared for him; and it felt good to have him close. The soothing trees of his home were far, unreachable, they could not bestow healing onto him. Here in this land surrounded by sand, the presence of his friend gave him security and helped him brush aside the memories of a nightmare he had been much too close to reliving. He was his steadying tree. Legolas sighed, while he watched the worried, grey eyes, and he smiled when they met his.

Yet, strange questions floated through his mind. - Had she placed his knives in the threshold? What had she seen? What did she know? Had she beheld his torment?

As if she sensed it, her gaze drifted towards the man and the elf.

Secretive she was, almost bizarre, hiding behind the veil and the darkness in her eyes. While Legolas was exposed, lying injured on the floor, unshielded from her sight. - And yet it frightened him not. It oddly soothed and thrilled him.

She rose and drew close. Legolas tensed, frowning at his own reaction. She looked at Aragorn questioningly.

Legolas could see him nod in answer. "He will be fine. No vital organs have been compromised. If the wounds get not infected, he will regain his full strength within the next few days."

She gently laid her slender hand upon the elf's brow and made a gesture of agreement. Her palm felt strangely cool and agreeably warm alike. Legolas withheld his breath but before he could even garner what happened, she pulled her hand back. She gave Aragorn a salve and returned to the children.

From time to time her eyes ghosted over the elf. Or so he felt.

He had beheld her searing cry of anguish, borne from the depths of the earth as if she had shortly dropped her veil. He could not push aside the remorse that his failure had caused the tragedy. - And yet she did not despise him; her gaze bore concern.

It was highly appeasing when Aragorn gently spread the cooling ointment on his burning wounds. He truly had a healer's gentlest hands. And then from time to time, Legolas met her wandering eyes as she followed Aragorn's ministrations.

Bewildered Legolas shrugged his thoughts away. - Perhaps they were only induced by the effects of his injuries; a folly, a fleeting sensation driven on by his hallucinating mind, induced by massive blood loss.

He closed his eyes to shed it all away; the tormented children, the dead youngster, his remorse, her eyes, her veil, her whole being… He tried to appease the confusion. But even with shut lids, the pain and all the disconcerting dazed turmoil crushed down on him.

* * *

That same day, beneath the full heat of the desert-noon, the men, joined by Aragorn, dug a deep grave into the sand, and carefully buried the body that had been wrapped into white linen. They did it in silence and respect.

Legolas was not allowed to aid them. They blamed him not; they cared. But could he ever forgive himself, or would this young man be one more burden engraved forever in his fëa?

"Once more, one of our people has been torn from us. Our brave, young men give their lives for the most honourable cause; freedom! As long as we live, we will resist the evil and affront it! We have people infiltrated in the strongholds spread throughout our territory. We know how to hide in the lands of our ancestors. We will keep hope alive, as long as we exist! With every fallen warrior we speak out the promise; never to forget, never to surrender - to keep our free spirit alive. - The moon is looking upon him while he re-joins with the creator."

As the veiled man spoke, in Westron, for the foreigners to understand, his people held their right hands to their hearts. A weary sadness turning into fierce determination showed in their dark eyes, in the men's hidden faces, covered by their veils.

The men were probably in their late twenties or early thirties, from what Legolas could judge by their strong posture and their almond eyes glinting in the sunlight. The woman, whose head was covered by a loose, blue veil pulled over her mouth and nose, looked younger than them, maybe only slightly older than the youngsters they had rescued. Her youthful skin, tinged the slightest shade of amber, showing around her almond eyes, and the slim root of her nose, her flawless, slender fingers - apparent signs in spite of her veil - betrayed the young appearance.

Though, her eyes looked sad and weary - far beyond her tender age - while she was holding her hand to her heart.

* * *

They had spent the day camped in the shady protection of the rocks.

The veiled man spoke with a soft, low, throaty voice, telling Aragorn they were secure. Their infiltrated people inside the stronghold would have led their pursuers another way, and due to the death of its lord, there might be quite a lot of confusion in the fortress. It was unlikely that the enemy was prepared to reorganize as fast, after the turn of events; that fact was contributing to their advantage.

It was always him, who spoke to them. - Maybe the others did not speak Westron… - Though, Legolas got the feeling that they understood. The men were simply silent. Yet their eyes shone openly and welcoming.

"I am Amar," the man introduced himself, late afternoon, when the sun was already making its way down to the horizon, "We are _Taruen_ , free people of the desert."

"I am named Estel and my friend is Legolas, we come from the North," Aragorn replied, introducing them by their true elven names. Why he used their right names, and his elven one, Legolas knew not. It had come so very naturally over his lips, and Legolas did not question it.

The man simply nodded and inquired no further.

Legolas had remarked throughout the day, how quiet these people were for humans - unusually quiet.

"Rest as much as you can," Amar told the ranger, "We will move on before dawn."

* * *

As Aragorn opened his eyes, blinking into the night, the men were already packing their small amount of things. Amar gave a few respectful orders and they moved off, disappearing behind the rocks.

"There is a long ride before us. We will ride through half the night and the whole day. Can your friend make it?" Amar inquired.

Aragorn nodded. "His kind is healing fast and is stubbornly strong. And this one might be the most stubborn of his kin. - He will make it."

He gave Legolas an affectionate grin. The elf glared at the human through narrowed, mischievous eyes, too exhausted to reply to the jest. The little crinkles around Amar's eyes were the only sign that he was smiling under his veil as he looked between the two friends.

The men returned with two more companions and the animals; six camels - these wondrous, tenacious beasts, perfectly adapted to the roughness of the desert - and three horses.

But despite the amazement at beholding the strange desert steeds from such closeness, Aragorn's mouth dropped open at the sight of the horses; one black like the night, one white, shimmering in the moonlight and one brown, its colour showing faintly in the pale moon's glow. The white and the brown horses snorted softly and came trotting towards them.

Amar smiled, the tiny crinkles around his eyes showing again. "They are yours, are they not?"

They were! - Baradhroch, Aragorn's good, old brown one, and Gwedal, Legolas' white mare, her feet as fast as the wind.

Aragorn and Legolas caressed their animals' nostrils, happy for the reunion.

So the party rode out before morning break; Aragorn on his stallion bearing Legolas, while the white mare followed her injured master. The youths were each placed on a camel, with a blue warrior leading the steed at their backs. Their bodies and spirits were fragile from the trauma they had lived through. The woman rode on the black horse, staying close, changing position every time she saw a child's eyes threatening to despair, so her soft gaze could catch the lost soul and share comfort.

The moon shone down on them, enveloping everything in its silver light. The night appeared surreal, a scene from another world, in another sphere of the universe. Aragorn slowly rode, Legolas in his arms, into a world as of yet unknown, becoming part of it.

They rode in silence; the way of these people, that had already touched them the day before. It was not the uncomfortable sort. It was a certain calm, it was peace, it was patience and endurance emanating from the riders; the silence of the desert, accompanied by the singing of the nightly breeze brushing over the dunes that reformed the sand constantly anew, in small, decorating waves under their mounts' feet.

The morning painted the landscape, and in the golden sea that was the desert, the slender riders appeared as large, majestic birds, their blue veils fluttering like glistening wings blown by the wind.

They rode towards that which was yet unseen and unknown to them, rode with firm endurance.

The air was hot, and it had become increasingly difficult for Legolas to stay focused on reality, in the dryness of the day with the loss of blood he had suffered. His consciousness was drifting between reality and hallucination. The scenes of this ride had seemed unreal from the moment they had begun; beautifully unreal. This unreality swept away the painful dryness in his throat and his veins, as the thirst took its toll on him.

Aragorn felt the unusual weakness in the prince's body leaning back against his chest, and wrapped his arms more tightly around his friend, steadying his weightless form.

"I beg you, stay awake my friend," he pleaded softly into Legolas' ear repeatedly, "Please, do not drift!"

Even their horses' paces became sluggish. - They were riding on horses, not camels! Did these people not know the difference?

Their last water supplies had dwindled before they had even ridden off.

Aragorn began to think with sarcasm, that those people must have a water storage in their bodies like the one of their mounts. - How else would they ride out into the baking heat of the desert, without a drop of liquid?

He dreaded for how Legolas' body would cope with the bloodloss in these harsh conditions. Even the woman glanced at them hesitantly sometimes from the distance with concern in her eyes, he remarked.

But he kept quiet, not daring to break the silence that was stretching like a blanket of respect between the beings and the desert.

As his thirst became almost unbearable, Aragorn began to see a lake glimmering in front of the rocks appearing in the distance. As they drew closer, to his disappointment, the lake disappeared, though the rocks persisted.


	6. The Desert - Friendship

_(Aragorn)_

I have held Legolas close to me for the entirety of this excruciating journey. He has drifted in and out of consciousness, his light weight slack against me, his head resting between my neck and shoulder. One arm I hold across his chest steadying him, dulling the jarring motions of Baradhroch's gait. My efforts to keep him awake failed. My fingers linger on the artery at his throat. It pulses constantly, yet diminishing more and more in strength. I am beyond myself with fear of losing him to Mandos. The fascinating calm of these silent people now maddens me. But exhaustion has left me too drained to express my anger. I say nothing to break their silence. I just hold fast as best I can. I cannot think, I cannot see anything but stone and sand, and my throat burns with unrelenting thirst. My only longing is for water, and as I see it shimmering in the distance I already know that it is a deceptive mirage. We only ride towards more jagged, torrid rocks. My fingers still feel the softly thrumming pulse, I cling desperately to it, to him, and pray he may endure.

And then as if miraculously awoken from a nightmare I blink several times before I stare in astonishment. Clear water streams from an indentation in the rock-wall; flowing into a small pool on the rocky ground, trickling over the stones and sinking into the sand. Small bushes grow in the close area.

So these people are not completely insane! And my relief is great.

They have not led us into the middle of nowhere, across a landscape that can kill. They know exactly how to travel the land.

The water feels wonderfully refreshing as it slides down my throat. Finally, I dare remove my fingers from Legolas' pulse. I manage to make him swallow the precious water. Slowly his senses return, he stirs and he sips the fluid I hold gently to his lips. He realizes that it is me behind him because with weak fingers he clasps my arm reassuringly, and fondly leans back against my body supporting him.

"We will not stay long. We need to reach the camp before nightfall. It is in the area of _The Spread Mountain Hills_. If we ride north-east we should find it in time," Amar explains.

I frown. This does not bode well with me, after the recent experience. I still doubt their sanity. From the words Amar has spoken, the man seems not to really know where they will find their aim.

Fortunately, this short reprieve has allowed Legolas to rebuild some of his strength. He sits now straight on Baradhroch in front of me, barely needing my support. Yet I am glad he has not insisted to ride on his own, I dread what it would have taken me to dissuade him, now that he has regained some of his composure. In the company of these people, he seems to be much more cooperative, and his stubbornness has not yet shown.

The persistence of these people seems to border over the utmost limits of human endurance. We ride on the whole afternoon without halting again, in the parching heat. Legolas and I have drawn up our hoods over our heads for protection against the burning sun, following the example of the veiled humans.

The sun is sinking once again towards the horizon when the men slow their mounts. Some of them hold their faces against the light warm wind, loosening their veils, revealing their strangely handsome features; noses slim and straight, over swung, full lips. Their eyes slightly unfocused, they inhale deeply the air brought by the breeze. They slightly adjust their direction to where the wind is coming from. What it brings to them, I cannot guess.

"I smell water," Legolas states after we have resumed our walk. He narrows his eyes, glancing over the hills, "and more; ...leather... coal... fire..." He turns his gaze to me and graces me with bright eyes.

As we ride on further, I can smell it too.

The landscape has become more laboured. Groups and chains of rocks protrude here and there from the sand. A small stream, carrying sparse water, makes its irregular way through the rocky, hillocked landscape. Bushes and spots of long grass grow in the areas around the trickle of water that is the stream, spreading between the hills.

The camel-riders greet some shepherds clothed in their equal blue garments. They are leading a herd of those majestic beasts the same direction we go, slowly, returning to camp for the night.

The men exchange some words with the shepherds, who walk straight and proud at the pace of their animals.

We are close to our goal. I can feel the quiet excitement of the riders surrounding us. Imperceptibly they press on their mounts.

As we pass the edge of a vast rock-chain, simple red-brown tents appear, majestically shining in the orange light of sinking Anor. What a humbling sight.

Goats are grazing outside the camp. Children with tightly braided, raven hair run around between the tents, playing games. As they remark our approaching caravan, they run excitedly to welcome us. Their cheerful calls and laughter fill the cooling evening air. Their eyes grow huge and awed at the sight of us. They stare particularly at Legolas whose pale features glow ethereally in the peaceful light of dusk.

I see him smile at the eyes in the small, pretty faces, which shy away the moment they meet his friendly, shining blue ones, just to return in awe a breath later. They exchange murmurs and whispers and meaningful looks among themselves. Their features are bright with joy. Excitedly they chatter in the foreign language, as they run and jump beside our caravan.

At the border of the camp teenage boys take over the camels and our horses, leading them towards water to drink, and to feed on the sturdy bushes and the slight grass growing at its borders.

Amar leads us through the camp. We are followed by the rescued kids and the veiled woman who rode with us. The eyes of the inhabitants brush us curiously, though discreetly, while they go on with tranquillity in their daily engagements; teenagers with long, raven hair, men with their turbans and veils, and women with light scarfs worn loose over their long, black tresses. The smaller children play among the tents.

Amar halts in front of a tent that looks in no way different from the others. He bends down and enters. His voice is barely audible as he softly speaks. An even softer woman's voice filters through the reddish goatskins. I steal a glance at Legolas. I am so glad to see him calm and straight beside me. As graceful as ever. I cannot believe that just earlier today my fingers clung to his pulse in fear. His wounds still need to be tended to, and I know that he hides his weariness, intent to defeat any weakness, his most hated enemy. But for now, I let him be, there will be time to see to him later.

After a while, Amar exits the tent, followed by a tall, slender woman. Her long, blue robe and scarf are embroidered with delicate silver ornaments. On both arms, she wears beautifully engraved silver rings that tinkle with her movements. The hair showing under her scarf is silver-streaked by age.

She looks at us with a calmness I have only seen by elves before; old elves, who have lived through ages. A sparkle lights her eyes as she acknowledges us, revealing a curiosity and happiness at our sight, of an intensity which only children usually possess.

Though the lines of human age carve her features, the beauty of her former youth is still visible in her golden face; her full lips, her slim nose with the small nostrils, her high cheekbones and her black, almond shaped eyes… they glint like raw, black jewels in the dimming light of sinking Anor.

A smile lights her face, warmly welcoming us. And then she turns her attention towards the veiled woman. The two slender figures move towards each other, their hand palms brush fleetingly, their gazes meet in silence as if they read unspoken words in the other's eyes.

Then, the elder woman moves towards the children. She approaches each of them in her quiet, comforting way; glistening, black, diamond eyes speak healing into hurting children's eyes deprived of their innocence.

The two women lead the youths inside the tent. Amar waits with us until the elder woman reappears in the entrance.

She rolls out an intricately decorated mat and bids us sit down on it. Silence stretches out between us, before with an encouraging nod of her head, she bids Amar to speak.

Amar does so, his eyes low, never meeting her deep gaze. Only as he has finished, he dares glance at her. She answers with a nod of acceptance.

She starts speaking, her words addressed to me and Legolas, her gaze firmly resting on us. I listen, surprised and entranced at the same time, as the elvish words come over her lips in a voice soft and tender, warm and deep. I can see beside me Legolas' bright eyes grow wide.

"With hope, I have foreseen your coming. Today is a good day," her eyes glint joyfully.

"The children you have rescued will need time," the same eyes sadden as she speaks, "time both we and the desert will give to them."

She pauses, and with the next breath she takes, a smile plays around her full lips, reaching her eyes, letting the guessed beauty of her younger days reappear.

"Legolas and Estel... my nephew has told me," her smile widens, "...like Beleg and Túrin."

I listen in astonishment to her words. And I can feel Legolas holding his breath beside me.

"Have you seen the people's eyes secretly following you, and the excitement of the children? - A beautiful friendship between a man and an elf! A tale brought to us as a gift by those wonderful beings who are the elves, who came through our lands, long ago, who had left their lands and gifted us with their friendship; a friendship that grew strong through the ages, and we treasure and sorely miss since the day they have left. We are honoured to welcome you in our midst, fair elf. And you bring us hope, Estel."

Her words sink deep into my soul, warming me from inside. Astoundment grows into fascination. She is an enigma in herself, and yet so very down to earth. I dare not ask the multitude of questions that surge within me through her words. Instead, I bask in the steady calm of her person.

"The children you rescued will be reunited with their families in their camps when their spirits are ready. And you may stay here with us, as long as you wish."

"Hannon-le, Lady of the Desert. Your hospitality is a precious gift to us. We will be glad to dwell with your people as long as Legolas needs to fully recover."

I cannot bring more than these words of gratitude and respect over my lips. The many questions in my mind will stay unasked and unanswered for the time being. I let them rest. It is simply comforting to be welcomed as unconditionally and as wholeheartedly as by these people in the deep, unknown desert of Harad.

Legolas shoots me a glare. I know it concerns the words I said about his health. I spoke of his injury he wants to hide and get over with. Though I meant what I said. We stay here until I deem him fully ready to leave. I will discuss it with him later. And I am prepared to insist.

The elder woman speaks some words to Amar, who still meets not her eyes. Then she rises and disappears to the inside of the tent.

Amar leads us to a tent close by.

"Here you may settle," he offers us, now speaking in broken elvish.

A smile shows around his almond eyes.

"I am her sister's son. She is _Taria_ ; woman of _Tar_ , the moon. Through the moon, she sees what our eyes cannot behold. Our women can see through the moon, though what _she_ sees, nobody else does."

His eyes keep smiling, knowingly. He guessed my questions.

"We all know how to speak the elvish tongue," he answers one of them, "Our friendship with the elves has taught us, since the times of old. We learnt Westron as well, but the latest only because of need, since we do dislike it. The men of the North, who come to our lands, are only enhancing evil; they twist and enslave, they come to abuse, to subdue, to murder," his voice darkens and finally silences.

"Now rest. I will have food and tea sent to you, and hot water and herbs to clean the wounds." And so he leaves.

After a simple meal with tastes to us unknown and interesting, I am determined to convince Legolas to let me have a look at him.

He suddenly looks pale and drawn in the dim lantern light. And at my bidding to remove his shirt he complies without objection. I frown, I was prepared to argue with him, and it worries me that he gives in so easily. It means that he is not as well as he wanted to make all believe.

I sigh deeply, "We have made it out of trouble once again, my friend."

Legolas seems too tired to answer. He just smiles. But then his face turns serious, and with a voice hoarse with fatigue mingled with sternness he bids me: "Aragorn, you let me appear weak in front of those humans. Please, do not do that again."

I answer not, but his bidding stings me in a strange way. He knows Amar and the riders have seen his wounding and his poor condition throughout the day. And he must sense at least as much as I that these are not people to easily be deceived. So why pretending endless strength before them. Whom does he want to impress? What weakness does he want to hide? Does this irrational behaviour surge from the nearly relived nightmare of his past? But I answer not. I hope this will not last.

I remove the bandages. And I am more than glad that my stitches have held and the cuts are closing fast, supported by the remarkable healing properties of the elves. Despite this favourable fact, the injuries and the ordeal of the last days have gnawed at Legolas' strength, and even while I am still washing the healing wounds, he finally succumbs to deep sleep.

He sleeps with his eyes closed, though, I worry not; after all that has happened, it is not to wonder. I gently cradle his head into my lap and cover the slender, injured body, to protect it from the desert night's chill.

I silently watch his calm, soft features and I wish him peace until weariness tugs at me and I lay down close to him. It is not long before sleep also claims me.

* * *

Muffled sounds of the awakening camp penetrate through the red skins. Legolas blinks into the tent's dimmed morning light.

"Why are you staring at me so?" He reproaches with a frown, and aims an amicable shove, pushing me away from him. "I am feeling considerably better if you want to know. And now stop mothering me." He glares.

"Irritated after the long sleep, are we?" I state tenderly mocking, and he ignores me. I guess he is fed up with feeling weak, it is weighing on his mood, and he decided to be done with it.

The sun warms us agreeably as we get out this early in the morning. Soon the searing heat of the desert's sun will hit with full brunt.

I feel the people's looks on us. Discreet, but I can say they are interested. I steal a sideways glance at Legolas, trying to sense how he copes. He keeps a straight face, and it is difficult for me to guess what goes on in his mind.

A small boy then rushes towards us, his raven locks bouncing about his small, excited face as he simply reaches for Legolas' hand, smiling openly at him. Positively surprised Legolas brightly returns the welcome smile. To me the small boy gestures with his tiny hand, waving to follow him. Like this he leads us, hopping lightly beside a joyful golden elf, hand in hand. Legolas turns to beam at me, and my heart feels suddenly lighter. For the moment my worries fall aside. So small a gesture from an innocent child it takes to turn his heart towards the light.

We reach a tent where a woman with a baby on her back is cooking over a small fire. As she sees the boy with us in tow her face gets bright, and she laughs, mirth dancing in her eyes. She offers us breakfast, that we accept gratefully; flat, steaming bread with goat meat and a pleasantly sweet, dried fruit. The boy's beaming, little face literally radiates in concurrence with Anor's rays, as we eat in company.

This day, we are led to several tents, by children and adults alike, to drink tea or eat the simple but delicious food in quiet, sunny company.

During the day, the people in the camp go after their daily engagements with a calm resolution that is rare to be seen amongst humans.

The children admire Legolas' bow and eagerly bid him show them how to use it. He patiently takes his time showing them the art, despite his injuries that still must be aching. He lets his arrows sing, hitting the small flying targets thrown by enthusiastic kids. They find it more and more entertaining to increase the challenge, throwing the tiny objects with enhancing speed. The targets swish through the air at times simultaneously in a flurry. Legolas easily matches the children's game. Every arrow hits, every shot is stunning in its accuracy, agility and speed. He offers a show that captures the eyes of the people in the camp. His lean body, tall and strong, moves in lethal grace with the tensing and releasing bow. Nothing betrays his injuries as immersed in his passion as he is. The children stare at times open mouthed, at times they jump, excitedly clapping their hands and emitting small shouts of delight, and obviously each one wants to try.

With great joy, I remark how Legolas relaxes more and more in the presence of the children. And in turn, they lose their timidity around him. They squeak, they laugh, they run, they jump. And he laughs with them equally. His eyes are beaming. His cheeks flush with their infectious excitement.

I smile contentedly. I am so glad to see him like this once more; light hearted and light footed as he plays with them. He swirls a small girl through the air and she squeaks hilariously. A small boy is already pulling at his tunic to get his attention. The boy gasps as Legolas seizes him and tosses him lightly up to recatch him securely in his strong arms. The boy laughs and gasps and laughs and gasps, as Legolas throws him repeatedly.

For a moment I worry if he is not over tiring himself. I am worried about his injuries. He seems to forget that he is still healing. But the longer I watch him, I think that he and I could take a bleeding wound again, in his side or in his shoulder, if in return, it is healing his heart.

He makes their little faces shine, and he too shines with rekindled joy. I love his laugh. I cannot get enough of it. I join to laugh and play with them. I am so glad I have him back. He is a shimmering star!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some impressions about the People of the Desert are inspired by the books of Federica de Cesco.
> 
> Many thanks to Ruiniel, always and again, for reading through this, and for her precious suggestions.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I would really appreciate any constructive feedback.


	7. Stories around a Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go always to Ruiniel for dedicating her time to beta-read for me. I am so lucky to have you :)
> 
> Thank you Rosenthorne for your reviews. And thanks to all who are reading and the readers who left kudos. I do cherish.

The games with the children slowly quieted as they grew tired. After a thrilling, long and enlivening time they skipped to playing with stones in the sand. Legolas still participated in their games, but his gaze wandered sometimes to Aragorn or his farther surroundings.

His attention drifted to a sturdy tree standing lonely in the sand near their playing ground. By all unnoticed, he slid away and greeted the lonesome plant. He could tell, that she was glad to welcome him. Her boughs swayed invitingly in the light, warm wind. He easily climbed up her gnarled, sturdy trunk disappearing between the dense crown. The tree tickled him with her innumerable tiny yet thick leaves. She stretched out her solid boughs as best she could to cradle him within. Snuggled up there, basking in the security so freely offered, the elf watched the camp from above. He caught sight on Taria's tent, under whose protection the youths were recovering. For a long time, he observed, lost in his musings.

Throughout the day women and men brought food and water to the tent. They softly announced their presence and they waited until the graceful figure of Taria exited the shade of the red tent and stood tall in front of them. As they spoke, Legolas remarked, how they avoided looking straight into the elder woman's eyes, keeping their gazes low, like Amar had done and explained the day before.

Legolas' heart skipped one beat as he recognized the woman approaching Taria's tent; the young woman who had journeyed with them on the black horse. She pulled her scarf up to cover her face as she approached. He could not catch her features.

She waited not long outside the tent before Taria appeared, slipping out into the bright light of the afternoon. Their palms brushed lightly, as the two slender figures stood straight, facing each other. Soft words in their foreign language they spoke. The young woman's eyes met Taria's, staring deeply into them...

She had not lowered her gaze!

Legolas wondered, but he could not guess as to the reason.

…and then she followed the elder woman into the tent.

The day had been hot, and the fresh evening breeze was most appreciated. Legolas inhaled deeply the slowly cooling air of the approaching night. He slid out of his musings and remembered that Aragorn must be wondering about his whereabouts. His gaze sought their tent, and there he was, speaking to Amar. He saw him shake his head and take a deep sigh. And next, he walked towards the place they had been playing with the children. Legolas watched on amused as the ranger intently observed the ground. Was the Dunadan tracking him? He could not restrain a small ringing laughter, as Aragorn moved towards the tree, eyes glued to the ground before him. Legolas purposely moved and rustled between the leaves, and then popped his head down out of the leaved canopy. Aragorn looked up at him, both eyebrows lifted.

"I should have known where to look for a flighty wood elf without tracking him, so please do not say anything." He said grudgingly.

"You should have, I agree. But nevertheless, I admire your skills at tracking said elf, master ranger."

Aragorn rolled his eyes slightly and then joined his friend in his mild laughter. It was so good to see him like this, mirthful and with mischief about him.

As they returned to their tent, night had already fallen. It was impressive how fast the change from light to dark happened in the South.

Amar came to bid them join his people around the fire.

"Tonight will be a night of stories," he announced, "We love telling stories," he smiled, "stories with truth."

The men, women and youngsters who had gathered around the fire were silent as if they had been waiting for them to begin.

Amar spoke first. He spoke in elvish, ever since the night before as Taria had astonished them using the grey tongue.

"It is an honour, Estel and Legolas, to have you in our circle."

Legolas could tell that Aragorn sorely failed to keep his curiosity at bay, needing to hear the whole story behind it; and so as the ranger spoke, the elf smiled.

"Dare I ask about your particular friendship with the elves?"

"You dare, my friend! And I will be glad to tell you the story:

They came from the North, long ago, ages ago…

I am speaking about a time deep in the past. The Taruen are a people persisting since the times of old. We do not count the days, we simply live into them, and we carry the treasures of the days of the past along with us in our stories.

…We - our people of that time that is - met the elves as they camped in the area further north, where the grassland loses into the desert. But the desert at that times was not yet as rough as it is today. Waterplaces were richly strewn over the land, and around them, green life-jewels grew and our strength blossomed.

From the first meeting, our friendship with those beings grew fast and strong. Their wisdom and deep relationship with nature and the universe were very similar to ours. They told us about the richness of the woods of the lands which they left, and we showed them the vastness of the desert, with those rare but rich, blooming jewels of the past.

Still, they sorely missed and longed for the trees. They were determined to journey on, even if their journey would lead them through the harshest of wastelands.

Our warriors possessed a tough endurance. They were able to read the signs of life in the desert and survive its rough nature, even on long journeys through the dry land; as we still do. They accompanied the elves on their slow flow through those lands, offering them hospitality along the way in the nomadic encampments of our ancestors, until they reached the southern borders.

From there, their way led them into the forests of the South.

For a long time, the Taruen resisted to the evil pressing south. But the foul army destroyed most of the rare and precious water supplies. Sadly, our people suffered too many losses through sicknesses and starvation, due to the lack of clean water. Our power declined, and we became scattered in small clans, struggling to survive as a free people, in the rough conditions of the desert.

The _Sirith, 'The Flowing'_ , how the elves called themselves, sustained us in our survival, sending supplies from the rich woods.

In the Sirith the Taruen had found allies with whom they shared much. We learned from each other, we joined in spirituality, and combined our healing knowledge and skills to accomplish great things."

Silence followed as Amar's throaty voice ebbed down. All the listeners were gazing into the fire as if they saw those warriors in there;

Proud, blue-veiled camel riders, moving across the desert together with fair elves.

Their presence equally noble and graceful, their bodies tall and slender. The elves shining in their delicate, pale brightness, the humans' skins lightly toned and their eyes deep black, and almond shaped;

So different and yet so similar in appearance.

It was as if everybody captured the same image in the fire.

Amar found his voice once more. It seemed even deeper now and tinged with heavy pensiveness.

"We have never believed the lie Sauron spread. We never did see death as a curse. It is part of life. Even the wind and the sand and the precious water in the desert are alive. We are listening to the elements and live in balance with everything around us. We are living in peace and respect with creation, as a part of it, never claiming our superiority. We know, that we are born into the world with a free spirit, no matter the pain and the challenges we will face. Our faith is unbroken to, one day, rejoin with Eru; a faith many humans have lost in their struggle and in the lies said to them.

The Sirith have encouraged us and strengthened us in our belief. Our friendship persisted until they left for their lands of light called The Undying Lands. We are sad about our separation, but we are equally happy, for they finally found the light they needed so deeply. It is an honour and a joy to have one of the Firstborn and a man named _Hope_ , here in our midst. Our friendship to you is forever granted."

Legolas felt not the need to say anything, the tale sunk quietly into him, raising more questions, but they required no answers right now. He even wondered if this all was real, or if they floated on a sandy sea of unreality, becoming unreal themselves. So strange it seemed to be. He glimpsed at Aragorn and remarked that his friend was equally caught in quiet fascination.

A young woman in the circle raised her eyes from the fire; the flames throwing flickering shades over her unveiled, smooth and straight features. She looked like a perfect statue as she fixed her eyes on Legolas and then moved them over to Aragorn.

"Please, tell us about your home, tell us stories of elves."

As she spoke in a calm, soft voice, her eyes glinted with expectation and excitement in the light of the fire, like the eyes of a child.

Legolas was shaken by her request and the way it was brought to them in an unveiled, direct and genuine way.

He would have liked to tell them about his home, about how once it had been. - About how the trees whispered to the elves and gently reached their branches towards them, about how they carried them and lifted them into their heights… about the song of the wood and its inhabitants with all its great and little wonders - About Eryn Galen...

His eyes glistened in melancholy, and he swallowed the sadness that wanted to overcome him, casting his eyes to the ground.

How could he tell them about the evil that was creeping into his beloved home? - About a majestic wood, that was slowly diminishing, about the songs of the trees and the birds that were violently muted... about elves constantly at war, about companions not returning from patrols, about searing battles, that were claiming way too many immortal lives...

How could he tell them?

He could not.

These people were suffering, he could see it in their eyes. Malice claimed their lands. They survived, they struggled against the odds.

They needed hope.

Legolas slowly lifted his glistening blue eyes, to look at his friend. His lips quivered as he fought the grief.

* * *

Estel knew.

They needed hope.

He took a deep breath, drawing the fresh, nightly air of the desert deep into his lungs. His mind wandered far into the North. All eyes on him, he took them with him on his journey to his beloved valley.

He could hear the birds sing and the leaves on the trees rustle softly in the light breeze. The eyes were resting on him, wide in astonishment and awe, as he spoke of the breathtaking beauty of his beloved home; of houses where the wind blew through, and gardens where the plants smoothly mingle with artfully carved archways and fair elven architecture. And as he spoke about the water of the falls singing its constant melody while rushing all among the wholesome beauty, their eyes grew even wider, if this was possible.

Legolas squeezed Aragorn's shoulder gently as the man ceased speaking.

"It is so good to hear of elven home," he murmured, "And you have pictured it beautifully."

As he looked over the fire, on the other side, he saw a woman's eyes. The black eyes of the only woman who was wearing a veil. Her eyes were directed over the flames, as if she was looking at the picture the tale had evoked; looking at Imladris…

Or was she looking at him?

* * *

Estel was still immersed in his tale; and inevitably, with the image of home in his mind and heart, surfaced the longing for his father.

"And the heart of this wonderful place called Imladris is a wise Elf-Lord. He is gentle and fair. He sees more than one could guess, and he is a great healer and a loving father."

Aragorn sighed as the longing for home and his family tore at his heart. It enveloped him after the excitement of the events, in the peace of this night around the fire. - He just wanted to give Legolas enough time to recover, and then they would make straight for home. He craved that it would be soon.

Deep in thought, Legolas' soft voice gently touched his awareness. His friend sang a melody, that came naturally, genuinely with the nightly breeze. It came lightly, carried from the forest of his home to the desert, where it painted the growing force of the trees and the rustling of green leaves in the song of the wind. Aragorn shivered by the beauty of the song and by the happiness he heard in his friend's voice.

"You give us hope. There is such beauty in the Lands far to the North. We are glad to hear that bright places still exist, and the fair beings are still dwelling in them," Amar's deep voice articulated what the eyes around them expressed.

"The Sirith carried the beauty of their woods in their hearts. It kept them alive. They could not have persisted in the dry vastness of the desert. Though, they understood how we could carry exactly the hidden depth of the apparently dry vastness in our hearts." Amar added with emotion.

* * *

A tall, graceful figure stepped out of the dark, slowly reaching the light of the flames cast by the fire. She stood proud and straight; Taria, the queen of the red tents.

Everybody kept quiet, sensing her strong presence.

Now Legolas understood why her eyes were deep and old, not like a human's eyes; old and deep like they had lived through ages. If he looked around at the people surrounding them, he recognized that their black eyes had a depth that held much more than a human's life's experiences and knowledge. Yet her eyes were old like they carried all their ancestors' knowledge and wisdom, passed from generation to generation - deeply valued and closely treasured, never lost.

She spoke, her voice rough and tender, coarse and soft, "The sand is not evil. The power causing it to creep forward and extinguish all of life is, but the sand itself is not. It has its own spirit. It is a rough spirit. We have learnt to live in alliance with it. The desert is a challenge, it tries one hard. It throws one back to the essentials, but it teaches one to value every small life, every drop of water, to value oneself and to value the other. It teaches us to listen closely, to see the hidden, to smell, to feel. It teaches us who we are deep inside. The desert is not our enemy, it is our ally. Part of Eru's creation, as we are. And we are part of the desert. We do not fear death, because we love life so deeply, that we see it even in death."

She took a seat around the fire. Her hand appeared from under her wide garment, holding an instrument; beautiful in its simplicity, bearing a single string tightened over a cucumber shell covered with an ornamented goatskin. She took the bow and gently stroked over the string as if she was caressing the instrument, making it sing.

It was the song of their ancestors, of the wisdom carried on over generations for ages; never forgotten, never lost. Legolas sensed the passing of ages it carried along, as it mingled with the air around them, and the immense multitude of the grains of sand beneath. And not least, it sang about the elves they met, and Taria's voice started speaking in her soft, dark tone, that penetrated deep into the soul.

"The Sirith finally built their dwelling between the rich woods of the Far South, partly stilling their longing. Only who has been there can fully comprehend what impact their realm could have on human senses. The plants and trees had slowly grown into beautifully carved, yet rough and wild shapes, by the simple touches of the gentle hands and minds of the elves. Interwoven, forming rooms, pillars, arches, steps, curtains and all with their roots, trunks, branches and leaves; ever growing, ever developing. Something for us, who are used to wide spaces, completely unknown, of another world - magic!

How different were they from us, and yet, how close were our hearts. Our souls were close and so were our bodies getting close, and from these alliances new lives were born, with both our blood flowing in their veins."

She looked at those present.

"Though, never did one of these children decide to live in our midst. Too strong was their bond between elves. They had parted from their kin in the North, solidly sealed together among their kind. It was like they did not have the choice to decide since their longing would never have allowed them to part..."

Legolas cherished the company of those people, the music of the desert and the tales about elves unknown, now departed. Aragorn had sought his gaze more times, a multitude of feelings stirring in his eyes. At one point their hands had joined in quiet understanding and appreciation of sharing this night together, the two of them in the midst of a people, strange, unknown, yet warm and openhearted.

They stayed up long, looking into the fire, the flames reflecting every word they had heard; elves unnamed within the history of Middle-earth, images brought alive, accompanied by the song of the desert that played incessantly, long into the late night hours.


	8. The Desert - Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Ruiniel, for being so patient with me, and always encouraging, especially with this chapter :)  
> Thanks for reading.  
> And to let you know; I was quite nervous about posting this chapter.

The night brought healing sleep with it and Legolas awoke with new energy, his injuries mended particularly fast even for his elven body. He could clearly see and feel how glad Aragorn was about his greatly improved condition. His friend seemed light and joyful, his worried mien of the previous days gone _,_ no longer weighing on him.

As Amar entered their tent in the morning to bring them breakfast, Aragorn spoke to him: "We are overwhelmed by your hospitality and most grateful. As beautiful as the night around the fire in your company has been, the tales about the elves have fuelled our longing for home. We would depart as soon as possible, and that might already be tomorrow if you allow."

Legolas felt a vague sting in the pit of his stomach at Aragorn's words. Yet, despite it, he shared his friend's longing. And so he added the truth of his own feelings regarding their return home, in hopes that the man would understand. "I fare much better, but I miss the woods, and we both long to see our families and friends we have not seen for a long time now. They might worry about our long absence."

Amar nodded in understanding. Finally, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"Then, my friends, this day and night we shall gather and let the splendour of our heritage flare, as a homage to you, and for the strength and the pride of our free people."

His eyes flickered.

After he left, the village slowly awoke, and everybody was soon busy with preparations for the event Amar had promised; food was being prepared on the fires, saddles were polished and decorated. The children were jumping and running amidst the joyful business, their eyes glinting with anticipation and excitement. They merrily made efforts to garner Legolas' and Aragorn's attention and involve them in their games for one last day. And their parents invited them to their tents to enjoy their company once more before evening came.

As dusk slowly fell over the desert, Amar bid Aragorn and Legolas follow him.

The people had exchanged their daily clothes with beautifully ornamented garments tinged in different shades of blue, and it made them appear as proud descendants of nobility. And yet, they were so simple and genuine in their bearing that their humility was striking.

A quiet, uplifting joy engulfed the camp. At its border, the young men saddled their animals.

Legolas beamed at Aragorn brightly. The calm excitement of those people was infectious and he saw Aragorn's eyes gleam back at him with radiant silver light.

Amar led them solemnly to where the elders were seated in a semicircle around the fire. The youths they had rescued were protectively placed in their midst. There were mothers carrying their babies, and children playing in the vicinity.

The young women sat together at a close distance. Their oval faces shimmered golden, amber and olive in different tints with delicately swung noses, full lips and glinting almond eyes, kohl-rimmed, enhancing their intensity. At first sight, their frames appeared fragile and shy. But then eyes full of passion, willpower and pride glinted in the warm light of eventide.

They talked excitedly and laughed among themselves as they were eyeing the men, boldness in their gazes _._ They wore beautifully ornamented scarfs slung loosely over their thick, raven hair.

Legolas' eyes wandered over the magnificent scene, seeking the slender figure who had invaded his mind and emotions. She was not among the young women. He would have recognized her. She seemed not to be present, and he felt that sting in the pit of his stomach again.

Just as Legolas was about to resignedly accept her absence, he saw a long, blue frame walk into the fray. Her back straight, she passed by the group of women, her beautifully ornamented scarf draped over her hair, in the same manner as the other females'.

She exchanged a few words with some of them, their conversation light and uplifted as far as the elf could tell from the other women's faces. Her face was the only one hidden from his sight as she stood with her back turned to him.

After a while, she moved on towards the people sitting by the fire. She took her place close to the youths she had accompanied and protected after their flight from captivity, carefully pulling the end of her scarf over her mouth and nose as she turned.

Her features remained shielded from Legolas' eyes. He could not shake the feeling that she was purposely hiding from them, and he could not comprehend the reason why.

* * *

When the great drum began to pound, the dark silhouettes of the riders stood out sharply against the orange-tinged sky. The men's eyes glinted in roguish smiles as they watched the young women, who began to clap their hands in rhythm to the drum.

The drum became alive, it breathed, and the desert quaked with its rhythm playing its own melody, its own rhythm.

The camels ran around the clapping and singing women, their necks lifted high, their footfalls melting into the beat of the drum; of the desert itself. The fringes decorating the saddles wafted and the silver ornaments flashed. They circled the singers. Colours and lights fused as they danced in the light of the fires.

The young women's solo voices deep and raw, smooth and soft, reflected those people's profundity and attachment to life, to the desert; expressing passion, suffering, pain and joy altogether. Their eyes flickered with excitement when the men alternately rode close, before taking distance once more in a jaunty sort of game.

It was all foreign, sensual and breathtaking. And Legolas saw how Aragorn was smiling quietly in amazement by his side. As he met his eyes, his friend gave him a mischievous, mirthful smile.

Legolas saw how a man took a run-up, and drove his mount to a swift flow, aiming precisely. He clutched his chosen woman's scarf, swiftly running off with an air of victory; the silky, ornamented fabric fluttering behind him akin to a flag in the wind. The women raised their voices, clapping their hands in elation. Encouraged by the act, two other men rode close and seized their women's scarfs, swiftly disappearing into the group of riders.

The women sang now in a chorus excitedly clapping their hands, with bold, laughing eyes. Legolas watched how they played with their scarfs and their hair.

And he saw how _she_ pulled her own scarf which threatened to fall, tighter. Her eyes flashed in the warm light of the fire. The sparks mirrored golden in their darkness. He could not breathe in his amazement.

They laughed and jested riotously.

Her eyes had subtle little crinkles in the corners as she smiled, listened. But she stayed quiet, and somehow withdrawn, veiled. - The young woman with the piercing black eyes. - She had retired into the security of the circle of elders.

How could he have such feelings for her?... She was barely more than a child to him, and he was supposed to see her that way. She had seen maybe twenty summers at most, considering there was not even summer nor winter in the desert and the Taruen were not counting the seasons.

But those eyes... those eyes were staring at him from behind the veil she never removed in their presence. **  
**

How could he allow the eyes of a youngster to affect him in such a manner?...

Yet, he could not avert his own gaze from hers.

Her eyes had a depth... not like the eyes of a human child, but more like those of Taria. Still, there was something different to them: They bore a weariness he had seen in no human before.

Or was it merely his imagination?

She was openly staring at him, from behind the safety of her veil, and helplessly lost, he held her gaze.

The cool night turned hot like the desert day in the heightening pulse of the great drum. Legolas felt his own pulse rise in excitement and passion, in a scene unreal, almost magic, reverberating with the beats of the desert.

* * *

Late at night, as the elders and the families with children had retired, the fires were still burning. The men who had seized a scarf held the beautiful cloths in their belts.

Slowly, more and more men and women disappeared from the light of the fires.

Legolas saw, how the young woman who first lost her scarf to the tough rider stood up and took her scarf-thief's hand, speaking to him some taunting words in their foreign language. His eyes glinting excitedly and somewhat shyly, he let her drag him along with her. Their soft, merry voices were still audible for the elf as they disappeared into the night, hand in hand.

Legolas was lost in a strange haze of brimming emotions as Amar's voice floated over into his awareness. The man explained to them the rules of the game, "If the woman wants her scarf back, she will have to use her charm, to convince the man to return it to her."

He smiled, holding his own prey as a young, golden-skinned woman walked up to him. Legolas saw Aragorn throwing him a meaningful look, grinning broadly as she dragged the young man with her into the night. Legolas grinned back at him, and he hoped his friend would not see the slightly embarrassed flush on his cheeks at the thoughts that accompanied these heated emotions.

The night-air was prickling with sensuality when the two friends retired to their tent.

Aragorn fell asleep immediately, while Legolas was still immersed in the unforgettable impressions of the latest events. Only slowly, and almost imperceptibly, he floated over the thin line of elvish dreams.

* * *

The soft light of a candle illuminated the inside of the red tent. Legolas blinked in the pleasant mist of sleep; confused, but secure in the cozy, warm candle-light.

He knew not where he was any longer.

Lying on his back, he rolled his head sideways, seeking the inside of the smoothly lit tent with his gaze. Aragorn was there, deeply asleep beside him.

He recalled... the desert, the chilly night, the warm fire in the evening, stories of elves and trees, blue clothed people of _Tar..._ _Ithil_ , deep, dark almond eyes, and the air brimming with sensuality... the earth pounding with its melody.

This was a good dream...

Aragorn's deep, even breathing lulled him further into the calm mist of that dream, in the smooth, flickering light of the red tent.

Silence...

…silence of suspense, his tickled senses perceived.

A tension, a slight shift in the air…

…when he felt a strange presence.

A blue veiled figure appeared in the opening of the red tent. Legolas held his breath, caught black eyes roaming through the inside of the tent, felt them locked on his dream-dazed ones. The soft light of the candle danced in their darkness.

His own eyes widened as that dark gaze explored the features of his face - shyly, hesitantly - drifting over his brow, his temple, gently feathering over the elegant arc of his cheekbone. His skin tingled, sending a shiver through his body. His dark, long lashes fluttered. His lips parted, freeing a sensual sigh, as a soft touch appeared to brush over them like a gentle breeze. **  
**

Slowly, shyly, and forbidden, yet surprisingly bold, black eyes roamed down his sensitive, smooth neck, causing him to roll back his head in breathless enjoyment. His breathing quickened. All his longing concerning her presence, those eyes, brimmed to the fore engulfing him in pure sensuality, ever soaring _._

Lithe, long fingers moved to hastily open the fastenings of his shirt.

_What am I doing?..._

His strong slender hands opened the shirt wider, revealing skin and taut, sculpted muscle, exposing the perfection of him to that fiery gaze.

_It does not matter... It is merely a dream..._

He felt strangely dislocated as if all of it was unreal, and yet the sensations were vivid. The fresh nightly air grazed his uncovered skin. His chest was heaving with his rapid breathing. Those eyes went wide at the sight of the well-shaped body, lying naked and yearning. **  
**

_This is... forbidden... She is... too young... should not… see..._

Those blue eyes were seeking the black ones, pleading. The tender, sensual lips parted and silently screaming for their touch. His hands reached down and fidgeted to free his aching want from the restriction of his breeches, drawing the fabric down his legs. The chill of the desert night did not affect him. He felt warm...

_So warm..._ **  
**

~.~.~

The presence behind the blue veil felt frozen by a longing impossible to restrain... her long, slender frame unable to move away...

_How entrancing is the body of the elf, when he lies before you - an offering, bare and fair in his perfection, wanton and yearning for your touch, with flushed, parted lips wishing for yours - leaves you gasping for breath._

_But your veil... your veil can not fall. You have to hide. But your eyes..._

_…ebony eyes caressing alabaster skin._

~.~.~

Black eyes saw and they did what they were asked to. They trailed over the pale, flawless skin. They pressed over his collarbone...

_This dream... I cannot allow it..._ **  
**

They traced the outline of his well-defined chest...

_It matters not... No one will ever know. It is..._

_A dream..._

And he gave in to it all, completely.

Nothing else mattered.

He felt her gaze running a fiery trail over his chest and then tenderly pressing on it's most delicate flesh. Legolas gave himself over wholly, arching towards the surreal touch. A moan of pleasure escaped his flushed lips, his eyes shone with desire.

Her dark eyes fixed on his naked skin, saw the shivers of delight causing the supple, muscular body to tremble with thrilling heat. It was a dance, caressing the bared skin of that perfect body, seeing the way he longed for it, the way he was pleading for more. Her gaze drew in the sheer beauty of his motions as he leaned into the touch, aching with need.

The ephemeral caress traced downward over the taut lines of his flat abdomen, lower, caressing his heated groin, staring at the hardened evidence of his lust.

His heart was racing, the intense thrumming reverberating in his chest and pulsing through the air in flowing ripples. His breath shifted into pants, his hand reached to coil around his aroused hot member, stroking under breathy sighs.

Wanton blue eyes locked on burning black ones that were wide with longing as they watched him convulse and jerk in ecstasy. His handsome, strong body rocked in rhythmical spasms. His chest trembled with the release of tension, and very slowly, breathing deeply, he relaxed in fulfilment.

Her dark eyes, now wide as they gaped at him, shimmering with an undefinable expression of desire and disbelief, suddenly shied away; as if caught in something forbidden.

_…a dream, a forbidden dream, in a red desert tent, protected by a blue veil._

She disappeared with haste, leaving not a trace in her wake.

_… Only a fantasy; a forbidden longing released under the blue veil of a dream._

The eyes of a youngling had touched aroused elven skin. Nobody would ever know, apart from his own self.

He eyed Aragorn, and was more than relieved as he assessed that the man was still peacefully sleeping.

Still affected by the unusual happening Legolas wrapped himself into his blanket, the warmth of the nightly encounter yet fresh and vivid; he needed to keep it close.


	9. The Desert - Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! to Ruiniel who never tires to help me with the words :)

The sun rose golden once again into the desert morning.

When Legolas awoke in the red tent, Aragorn was already up, smiling at him.

"How do you feel today, my friend? Is this the day we depart towards home?"

Legolas blinked confusedly, still enveloped in the light cover. It was unusual for the elf to sleep longer than his human friend. He felt Aragorn's deep longing and joyful anticipation in his voice, and he knew his body had recovered enough for the journey. He missed home as much as the man did. But he was reluctant to release the cover, as though afraid of losing something wrapped around him; the warmth he had captured last night…

…a dream that would be set free and could fly away, vanish, never to be recalled. That thought made something tighten painfully in his chest and throat.

Still, the elf was physically ready to leave, and he could not disappoint the joy of his friend's heart with something his mind was forbidding him to consider anymore.

"Yes, Estel. This is a good day to turn towards home," he replied. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, he smiled back at Aragorn reassuringly. The sharp sting in the pit of his stomach then took him unawares.

Aragorn observed him intently, tilting his head, slightly frowning. "Are you feeling well Legolas?" He asked with concern.

Legolas averted his eyes, pretending to watch the sunlight breaking through the sutures between the goatskins, and then with his fingers, he traced the lines of light falling on the blanket.

"We are going home! How could I not be fine…" he said almost too lightly.

In reality, he avoided his friend's gaze, so that his eyes would not betray the lie.

Aragorn's eyes narrowed slightly, disbelievingly, but he seemed to decide to let it be, and Legolas was more than relieved for it.

Word had spread in the camp that the elf and the ranger would leave that same day. The people came to bring them provisions for the long journey as they prepared their horses. Amar and some of his warriors would escort them to the northern borders of the dry land.

"We are a people talking to the stones, the sand, the trees and the waters. The sky and the earth are singing an eternal melody to us. The earth is the instrument and the wind coaxes from her surface the tunes of her song. It carries so much with it; stories of the past and the future and the life of the present. We have learnt to listen to it. I know you can hear it too.

The desert does not allow any forbearance. It kills those who want to overcome it, or who do not know or hear its melody. It is dangerous.

The people spinning the nets of evil in these lands, the orcs and other foul creatures, they do not venture into the deep, dry land. They cannot survive. They have their routes. We know their paths, and we know how to move unseen to their eyes. It is our duty to guide you until you reach more familiar surroundings."

A tall, slender figure moved out of the group of humans who had come to bid the travellers farewell. Her appearance was as simple as she lived; her majestic walk, her grace, made her stand out as a lucent queen - _Taria_ \- mirroring the simplicity and the beauty of those people, proud and humble at the same time. Her voice sounded soft and warm, bold and powerful.

"Estel, the hope of all humans, of the Lands of the North as well as the South and the East... We are all depending on hope… hope to preserve our freedom, the beauty of our lands!"

Legolas observed Aragorn absorbing her encouraging words gratefully. He felt how important this encounter had been on his friend's way to his destiny. He meant hope to people far beyond the borders of Middle-earth, and it touched him deeply to hear it so clearly pronounced. He was so very proud of Aragorn, and once more he knew deep within that he would sustain him to the end.

While the elder woman spoke, Legolas could not help but notice another willowy figure standing out among the people who had come to see them off. He felt her presence and sensed her eyes on him; those eyes embedded in light amber skin, in a face hiding behind a veil, deep black with unveiled passion in their depths…

…how could these be the eyes of a child?!

Oh Elbereth! It was not right! It could not be... An elven prince longing for the touch of a youngling...

And yet, nothing aided in denying the truth.

He had to banish, to deny it. There was no way for a Sinda prince to feel such. It was unbefitting.

Denial he forced upon himself, but longing pierced, burned. Those eyes pierced, longed, demanded... and shied.

How could he banish her from his mind, her eyes that were transforming shame into delight, with the fascinating colour of their deep darkness...?!

They greeted the Taruen in the greeting of the elves, bringing their hands to their hearts and sweeping them off towards them.

Legolas' heart threatened to burst, so wildly was it beating as he mounted his horse and they turned their backs on the camp, heading for the open desert.

It was a long journey, leading them slowly away from an almost magic, unreal world, towards home; towards the forests and the people they loved and missed.

As Amar had promised, they met no evil on their way, and even as they parted from their new friends, their journey went on swift and uneventfully.

* * *

_(Aragorn POV)_

Finally, we reach the ravaged forests of Ithilien. The desert is already far behind us.

Almost hastily, as if he had been waiting for this amongst all things, Legolas leaves his horse and disappears between the trees, climbing to their heights. Many of them are touched by the shadows of evil, but many are still steadfast and strong, standing against the fell powers. They are growing witnesses of hope and resistance. He seeks them out, and greets them, leaping through their boughs. They seem to eagerly welcome him. They reach out for him as he swirls through their thick, leaved canopy. Softly rustling and whispering leaves move to brush him, to get the slightest touch of him. He is like a flash of golden energy reviving. **  
**

He has been silent the whole journey across the dry land. Silent and disconcertingly distant. Strange beyond his natural strangeness – oddly detached. He would not speak to me of it, nor of anything else.

And now as we have reached the trees he retires into them. In their midst, he releases whatever troubles him. For some time he seems free. A whirlwind of life. I imagine he could not find the words to tell me. At times it is easier for him to speak to the trees. They tame his energy and soothe whatever reason it is that makes him behave like this. He speaks to them without words; they feel him, they take the burdens away from him, and most important of all - they leave him be.

I have learnt as well to let him have his ways. But I am not a tree. So in this moment, he seems to need them, not me. He gives to them, and they give him what he needs in return.

He knows I am here, whenever he decides to share with me. I ride amidst the trunks of the giants growing in this still breathtaking forest, heading constantly towards home, and I can hear him softly follow the same way above me, through the greenery.

At times I see him appear between the boughs. A bright ray of light among dark leaves. In the next breath, he disappears with a supple swishing between the thicket. And then again he moves completely silent, and I cannot guess if he is still up above me.

Immersed in my pondering, I remark, that Gwedal has stopped walking behind me. I hesitate, alerted, and turn towards the stubborn white mare. She shakes her head and snorts but refuses to follow. I turn back and reach her, looking out for her fluttery master. And there I see him, not far above her, leaning into a gnarled bough of an old tree, embraced by its leaves, almost hidden. The tree is thick and tall and old, but the leaves are young and tender, strikingly fair in their fresh, light green. They are all around him, growing from young, thin sprays, eagerly surrounding him. There is a light breeze that softly stirs his hair and the leaves around him, making them melt into a tangle of gold and green.

I ride closer, and from this angle, I see his face. His gaze is distant, directed southwards. I feel the urge to call him to me. I am not a tree, so I cannot simply let him be all the time.

"Legolas?" I call his name and say nothing more. For a few long breaths, he does not react. But as I am about to ask again he speaks, not moving his gaze nor shifting his position in the slightest. It is almost a whisper, hesitant and hoarse.

"The desert has affected me strangely."

It is the first thing he says in a long time, and his voice is coarse from the long silence. It is strange and guarded as if he almost dared not say it.

I am so glad to finally hear him speak to me, that I immediately offer a reply, giving voice to my own feelings regarding the subject.

"I feel that also, my friend. Those people are stunning. I have discovered what I had never expected to find in those lands. I see it all now with completely new eyes. And I am glad I had a chance to partake in this amazing experience."

My thoughts drift to our farewell scene and the hope those seeing eyes bestowed onto me. And I feel strengthened to face whatever may lie ahead on my path.

But Legolas continues to stare southwards, his gaze distant. Not a word does he speak again. No reaction to my own words. I crease my brow, yet I wait patiently. This trait I have learnt from the elves, and from him to an even higher degree.

It is only after a long time that he detangles from the branches and leaves, and springs down from the tree, landing softly beside Gwedal.

His gaze is still lost in the distance. I know not where he really is, certainly not here with me as we ride on together. I guide Baradhroch close to Gwedal. Their flanks brush, my leg touches his. His gaze is pulled towards me and he smiles at me brightly and intensely. For some breaths, I have the impression he is back, but soon his gaze is lost again in the same unknown distance.

My heart glows with serenity as we get ever closer to my home. Here it lies, my protected sanctuary, spread out before me - peaceful and quiet, almost free from any outward threat. After all we have seen, it feels almost unreal, an oasis of security and peace and welcome, warming familiarity.

It is as if Legolas' whole being begins to glow brightly at the pace of my heart. His features soften at the birds' welcoming songs, and he joins their calls humming a cheering melody. He no longer casts those strange, lost looks towards the South. I am so glad he is finally arriving home together with me. I know that to him, this healing place is ever a soothing reprieve.

And then I suddenly behold from the distance, flashes of silver between broad trunks; two tall, slender figures, their grey cloaks shimmering solemnly as they flow towards us between the calm, steady trees of Imladris, their silky raven hair streaming behind them in the slight wind.

Before my mind can get hold of the happenings I am drawn into an overwhelming embrace. I am tenderly crushed by the familiar warmth of two strong bodies holding me close; Elladan and Elrohir, my brothers, my family, how badly have I missed them!

Legolas is still quietly singing. I can hear the joy in his voice as he watches us, and my spirit soars in delight. His laughter rings bright as he greets my brothers. I am so glad we share this special moment.

The joy in this ever beautiful valley shines from the trees and the springing water, radiates from my loved ones' faces as we walk together, our faithful horses in tow. We travel towards the Last Homely House where my father anxiously awaits me, having hoped for my safe return. Light streams across his drawn features, smoothing out the creases that worry and fear of loss have painted once more on his ancient yet ageless face.

"I am glad to see you are both well this time, riding and walking using your own strength." my Adar jests affectionately, and I can only guess the magnitude of his relief. It is now his turn to crush me fondly against him.

There is a long story to tell, but for now, I am simply happy to be home, and more than anything I wish to bask in the company of the ones I most love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed.


	10. Imladris - Fallen Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next 4 chapters are still pre-LotR, playing some few years after The Desert and before Aragorn lends his services to Rohan and Gondor as Thorongil.

It was a bright autumn day. The trees around Imladris held their golden and red leaves, not willing to renounce them to the soil just yet. The wood seemed to enjoy its own beauty, warmed by the rays of the afternoon sun. Now and then, the soft breeze blowing through the trees was allowed to carry some of the glimmering leaves away.

Making little sound, save for the soft rustling of the fallen foliage its hooves stirred, a tall, black horse made its way into the peaceful valley. It carried a hooded figure, whose light silver-grey cloak was softly blowing in the wind.

Estel enjoyed the golden tinged woods surrounding his home, together with his brothers Elladan and Elrohir.

The days the sons of Elrond, Lord of Imladris, spent together, hearts light, eyes dancing with mirth, were precious and rare as of late. This radiant afternoon they were merely striding through the wood, running after each other, shouting and laughing, diving into the piles of golden-red foliage that fringed the path leading to their home. No onlooker would be able to tell the two identical twins were elves who had seen hundreds, even thousands of autumns; nor that he, the young human, was a leader among the rangers of the north, skilled in reading nearly indiscernible signs of tracks at first sight. No, they would have taken them for youngsters romping about, enjoying one of their first few autumn days in their lives. But he did not mind what others might think; he would cherish these times and carry them well treasured inside through battle and hardship. Their mirth was sparkling between the golden and red trees, colouring the air in the same tint as the gleaming leaves.

Busy with their games, the brothers did not notice the horse and its rider approach. They were making far too much noise for their ears to pay attention to the soft rustling of the horse's footfalls. Just as the creatures appeared between the closest group of trees, it caught the brothers' attention.

They silenced and froze in place, staring at the sudden appearance of the deep-black horse. Their eyes moved up to the slender, hooded figure in surprise before exchanging questioning glances among themselves.

How had these creatures appeared so silently, seemingly out of nowhere? Estel wondered with uneasy concern.

But very soon he relaxed since, despite the suddenness, he did not perceive the beings as a danger. And neither did his brothers, he remarked, as they silently kept staring at the rider.

Sad, weary eyes gazed at them from horseback. There was something heavy and depressive about that unknown creature. Its face was shaded by the deep hanging hood, the collar worn high.

As it continued to keep silent and did not move its shaded eyes from them, Estel felt Elladan stir beside him. As the eldest of the brothers he took up his duty; voice confident and steady, he spoke to the rider in the common tongue: "Where do you come from, and what brings you this way, stranger? May we be of help?"

To Estel's surprise, the hooded rider lowered its head watching the forest floor as if it could not withstand the brothers' gazes anymore, "I came to search for the Lord of this valley..." a soft, female voice answered.

She faltered, insecurity wavering in her voice, as if unsure if she could reveal the reason for her presence in this place to these elves and the human. Though, after a short silence and an undefinable look of recognition at Estel, she seemed to overcome her fear.

As if choosing possibly non-compromising words and, Estel noticed, avoiding to give the requested information about herself, she slowly concluded: "...he… is known to be wise, and… his counsel highly counted."

She spoke in fluent elvish, though with a heavy, unfamiliar accent, leaving some consonants out and strangely emphasizing others.

"Mae-govannen, my Lady," Elrohir answered politely, concealing his surprise at her unexpected voice and words, "We will be glad to lead you to our father. We are always bound to welcome one who sincerely seeks retreat and counsel within the protected borders of this valley."

The sad eyes slightly widened in awe.

"Hannon-le, my Lords," she answered inclining her head, and easily dismounted her steed.

Estel felt the sad weariness that enveloped her, unerringly sweep over him and his brothers. The mirth of the sunny day had abated in her presence, and so they walked the whole way to the Last Homely House in silence. The air hung mutely, thick and heavy between them. The only sound that reached his ears was the rustling of the autumn leaves under their feet.

When they were entering the elven dwelling, he observed her falter under the great stone arch, her slender body tensing perceptibly. Something resembling fear flared up in her widening eyes.

Estel had never seen anybody coming to Imladris to be afraid at the sight of it. He did not know a place more peaceful and soothing anywhere in Middle-earth. He could not guess what confused feelings were warring behind those deep black eyes, barring even the peace of the most beautiful place in Middle-earth from her heart.

"We have a visitor, please call Adar and bring the horse to the stables," Elrohir politely bid the trusted guard who received them at the entrance.

She still had not removed her hood, and at the bidding she reached to touch her horse, moving closer to it, startled, afraid, seeking its protection.

"Please, my horse is not to be locked in!" She spoke out almost harshly, in a hoarse voice. Even as she spoke, she flinched, as if her own words had startled her, and dark eyes glanced shyly at Elrohir from under the hood.

"Oh. It... it is not obligatory if you wish otherwise… forgive me," Elrohir answered gently. Estel could tell he looked quite confused at her unexpected refusal, he had certainly not meant to press her.

* * *

She stared to the ground, thoroughly ashamed of her own reaction.

Had she been indecent or even rude? Valar forbid, she had not intended to make it sound that way.

Though it was a fact that she would never keep her horse trapped into a stable, and besides, she was not prepared for it to leave her side just yet. She felt too insecure, too vulnerable.

What if the Lord of Imladris would reject her as soon as he got to know who she was and where she was coming from?

She had been told her kin might not be well-seen among the elves in Middle-earth. They had sundered, too close to humans had they got, they had mingled with them, broken unwritten rules and assumed a new identity.

In that very moment, she wished she could just disappear. All the courage it had taken her to ride to this place, left her within the blink of an eye. Her knees went week, threatening to give up supporting her any longer. Her own rushing breathing and the rapid hammering of her heart became deafeningly loud in her ears. She saw the elves around her exchange words. The sounds all melted together, reverberating and rendering it impossible to make out what the words said. Her hood and her horse; the only protection from the outside world.

If only they would not notice her terrified confusion, she hoped.

She tried hard to calm down her breathing and concentrate on not fainting.

To collapse at their feet would be embarrassing to no end.

And then he appeared, the ancient Lord of Imladris, walking down the steps into the yard. His calm composure betrayed every bit the noble Lord he was. His grey eyes were directed towards the new arrival, a slight smile was smoothing his severe features, showing his warmhearted nature. He acknowledged his sons nodding slightly at them, his gaze soft with gentleness. And then he turned, fully facing her.

"Mae-govannen, young Lady. I am Lord Elrond of Imladris and you are most welcome in this home," he said in a firm, friendly voice.

He added no questions about where she was coming from, or who she was. He simply welcomed her, and she was incredibly grateful therefore. A heavy weight fell off her heart.

That was when she remembered that she was still hiding under her hood and that it might look quite impolite and reserved. Now, that her greatest fear was appeased, she warily lowered the hood and revealed long, dark locks and gracefully pointed ears.

She heard Estel softly gasp beside her, and she noted that the twin elves' lips parted and their eyes slightly widened simultaneously.

She forced herself to ignore their reactions and instead focused wholly on the calm, and thoroughly unshaken, ancient elf.

"Well-met, my Lord," she started with slightly more confidence, "I am Mîaddar from - I... I came a long way to seek your counsel." Her eyes glanced shyly into the ones of the elf lord, before sweeping off to the ground, unable to hide her insecurity.

In a calm and steady voice, Elrond answered: "It is an honour to have a guest who took such a long way to reach this House. May you get settled and refreshed, and find the peace you require. Take all the time that you need, and when your heart desires, you may come and find me."

She redirected her gaze onto him as he spoke. His eyes looked warm and friendly as if he knew about her discomfort and wished to put her at ease.

"Elrohir will show you to the guestroom."

"Gratitude, my Lord," she thanked in a low voice, and with a slight nod of her head, hand to her heart.

She gently patted the black horse's neck, whispering into its ear. The beast snorted softly and then turned abruptly, leaving swiftly through the stony arch. Her gaze followed the elegant creature intently until it was out of sight. The horse's swift footfalls were still audible for some breaths, before they were lost into the constant rushing of the water and the slight wind that was gently culling the leaves from the trees.

The brothers exchanged stunned glances.

Elrond left the scene showing no sign of surprise.

She took a few steadying breaths before Elrohir gently bid her follow him.

* * *

(Estel)

She moves mainly unnoticed, our unusual guest. At times she can be spotted on the balcony watching the quiet valley stretching out before her. From time to time she is seen in the hallway as she leaves the house and disappears between the trees into the wood. The neighing of a horse can be heard then from the woodside.

She does not speak unless to answer a question addressed directly to her, and her eyes will casually sweep to the ground while answering. Her answers are curt but polite. I have observed Glorfindel wanting to engage her in talk, but our great, golden warrior seems to scare her the most. Her dark eyes just glimpsed at him once and from the slight parting of her lips, I can say that she gifted him with barely some few words.

She is going unnoticed, yes, but not to me, and not to my brothers. She carried a strange shadow into our home and our days, and it lingers with her presence. I can sense a wisp of shade clouding Elladan's and Elrohir's fine features, a soft, melancholic weight on their souls. The signs that show when they slip into painfully reminiscing the sailing of their mother, and the agonizing time of her suffering leading to that unavoidable parting.

Since I am with them, since my childhood that is, they say that my presence has healed them. And when they say it, they smile fondly, affectionately and genuinely at me. Even now that I am longtime an adult and matured, I feel like that well-loved and cared-for child I have been, when they say so to me, as they love to remind me at times.

And I love it when our mirth and laughter fill the air, as we are again united in our beloved home. That is the way of our peaceful autumn days together once more; hunting trips, games, jests, tales in the evenings in the Hall of Fire. We were enjoying our time together in full breaths… before she came and brought with her this lingering shadow. And I resent her for this.

The Valar know how badly I need these precious reprieves in the safety of my loved ones to face the trials which still lie plenty before me. A leader of the rangers of the North I am, and I fully come up to this duty. I give my best. But I could never do all that I do without their support, and the good times we share. And I know they need that joy too. That lightness in these heavy days we all face outside. This is my sacred valley and our much cherished time together... and she has lain a shade over it. Oh yes, I do resent her.

I puff out the smoke. The pipe lies comfortably in my hand. I usually do not smoke when I am at home, since my brothers and the elves around me are disturbed by the smell of the weed. But today I retired alone, further away from the borders of our dwelling and from any crumpling nose.

I retired to muse about the odd behaviour of our guest, about love and joy between brothers, and the unbidden shade upon my sanctuary.

I think of Ada, and that he seems not affected by it. Not the slightest. He is calm as he mostly appears to me. He is my rock; steady and strong. But does he not sense the shadow, does he not worry?

More questions roll over and over and challenge me as I inhale and puff out the smoke repeatedly. Am I being unfair to resent her? What is she really carrying? I know nothing of her. Am I being selfish, wanting to keep the healing of the valley for us alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the new kudos and comment :)
> 
> And always to Ruiniel for her great work in beta-reading.


	11. Imladris - Heavy Burdens

The finely carved ornaments, arcs and shivering leaves of wildly entwining, yet gracefully tamed plants shimmered in the pearly light of the full moon. Caught in deep stupor she was. This place was beautiful indeed.

Her feet carried her aimlessly through the open rooms and corridors of the airy house. Wisps of memories softly brushed her mind, of familiar plants, wild and tamed alike. She floated on them, retrieving all the security she could capture.

Suddenly, somewhere before her on the ground, shards of the finest steel flashed and unavoidably seized her gaze. The elleth stared at the shattered sword carefully lain out on white cloth. For a moment she stood unmoving, watching the young human kneel by the blade remnants. As if deep in thought, he lifted his eyes and met hers. Briefly, she saw a warm flame in them, and at the same time, under the light of the moon, his eyes shone silver and bright. But as soon as he recognized her, he lowered his gaze and quickly wrapped the sword in the linen.

The next time he looked at her he sighed, and appeared once more as merely the young human, whom she had seen talking and laughing with his brothers in the house or striding through the wilds. And yet she knew there was more to him than reached the eye. The elleth felt as if she had snatched a secret from him he might not have been ready to reveal to a stranger such as her. He was young, so inconceivably much younger than she, and yet in his voice there was the strength of someone who carried on his shoulders a responsibility unfathomable, and he carried it well.

She could have run away again, like a thief, with the glimpse she had seized. - She did not.

Instead, the elleth apologized, "I did not mean to pry, forgive me." She flinched as her voice came out shaking and croaked.

He looked at her gravely and with near skepticism as if considering his next action or words. She held her breath. To her immense relief, his serious gaze softened. "Worry not, I believe you." And then he graced her with a sparkling, silvery smile. "We all have a story which weighs on our lives."

She knew not what to say. These few words washed over her like a wave, a gentle, warm wave that for a fleeting moment made her feel less lonely. She released the air from her lungs in a long freeing rush. He could have resented her. And yet he did not…? - He encouraged her, dispelling her fear.

There was a brightness about this young man...

A friendly and inviting atmosphere lay upon the house and the striking diversity of its inhabitants; a soothing and welcoming spirit. She felt it sweep through the whole valley. She had closed it out for fear, but more and more it sought its way to seep into her. A place where she felt that elven and mannish history mingled so intricately, even if she did not yet know how this could be. - She had not thought such a thing existed in the Northern Lands.

The elleth tried a hesitant smile that barely reached her eyes, and turned on her heel to silently retreat. This unexpected encounter had shaken her, and she knew not yet how to react or even sort her feelings.

* * *

For a while now, the old and wise elf lord spent every evening in the Hall of Fire, even alone, allowing his thoughts to wander waywardly.

Was he waiting for something? - No…

…he was at peace once more, at peace with himself. His sons were close. He had time, serenity and love to give, to them and to another young one, who had arrived in his home.

He was well aware of the shadow that hung heavily about her, but he had faith in the ways and the patience of his valley.

He would not press her. He would let her be.

As she had found her way to the Last Homely House, she would find the way to seek for its Lord when the time was right.

* * *

That night a pair of black eyes glanced shyly into the Great Hall of Fire, where the lambent flames created a pleasantly warming atmosphere. Silent feet approached the elf lord where he was seated, watching the merry sparkling of the flames, and a slender figure gracefully found her place beside him.

They remained so, silently watching the fire.

Finally, the elf lord turned his gaze towards Mîaddar, inviting her to say whatever burdened her heart, since he sensed her reluctance, and at the same time, her need to share.

"Do not fear, young one. Do what you came for. I know not who you are or where you hail from, but know I would never reject you based on such. So do not fear, because fear only binds you and leads you astray."

A sigh so deep freed a constricted chest, and Mîaddar began to speak, slowly, hesitantly.

"This... is the first time after many years, that I am in elven company again. I came... all the way from the South, deep Far Harad. I am an elf of the South... a _Sirith_. All of my kin have left. I... I do feel alone."

It was out! - She had said it, that which she had dreaded to reveal.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she cast a glimpse at the elf lord, whose gaze was resting on her, filled with calm and peace, encouraging her to continue.

Comforted by his acceptance, she went on with more confidence. She did not know what he knew about her kin. She told him of their history, how it had been carried on to her, from the perspective of her people: The true history of the _Sirith_.

A history starting in the First Age, when young elves of Beleriand heard about the light of the Undying Lands. Young elves, driven by the idealism and the enthusiasm of youth, sundered from the realm and heritage they upheld; united in one common quest. They wished to find a new way of life, a new place, where they would be free of the bonds they felt constricting them, holding them back from their internal growth in their immortal lives. They longed to be as close as possible with Eru's creation, seeking for enlightenment on Arda, before one day, when the time would come, once and for all to sail to those Lands of Light.

They had begun their journey, right after Beleg Cúthalion left the Kingdom of Doriath to stay with his best friend Túrin Turambar. They had admired the fierce, elven Captain for the deep friendship, love and loyalty to his human friend which he carried in his heart, for he had always stayed true to himself and others. Strong, bold and free; he was the idol of their youth. He had left the kingdom following the call of his spirit. And so too, would they follow their hearts' call. His story they had taken with on their journey, and not forgotten over the Ages.

Their families had to let them go, willing or unwilling. The spare contact they kept, sending word to their closest ones through envoys, diminished more and more. The departed elves found that they were merely considered rebels; not understood and not respected. Their connection and closeness with humans had even built a fierce rejection by their former kin. The contact was severed entirely after the fall of Doriath.

The _Sirith-said_ _'flowing on their own'_ , they were called in the kingdom they left behind, or simply the _Sirith, 'the flowing'_ , they called themselves.

Maybe they were rebels to the outside eye. But in their own eyes, they were united in one important quest, which was worth leaving all else behind.

Getting passionate in the tale, in memory of her own people, encouraged by the quiet listener, her tongue loosened more and more, and she told Elrond about the moon and the stars on the desert sky, about its people, whom the Sirith had come to respect and appreciate, and about the rich forests of the South that had been their home, where she was born and to where her heart still belonged. She praised the majestic trees and their beauty they had so readily lent to the elves, the fair folk they had enjoyed to welcome and harbour under their rich canopy.

The elf lord listened to her, and even when she silenced, he did not speak. They just sat into the late night, gazing into the sparkling flames. The flickering between light and shades, cast by the fires, was playing in the Great Hall and on their faces until tiredness overcame Mîaddar and she silently left. Elrond stayed for some more time, drifting on his thoughts before he also retired to his chambers.

* * *

The next day something had changed in her behaviour. Mîaddar appeared less shy, or at least, no longer afraid. She did not lower her gaze anymore as soon as she met somebody in the hallway or in the garden. Not even the Lord Glorfindel. She rushed no more through the corridors as if wanting to hide or to avoid meeting anybody. She moved more freely in the house and in the gardens. She seemed more at ease. Though the sadness in her eyes, sometimes gazing through everything and at nothing at all, was ever present. Alone she still chose to be all day and night.

Estel decided that he had been unfair in his thoughts towards her. In their nightly encounter, he had seen sincere hope and need in her eyes. And so he resolved he would do something to beckon her out of her sadness. He went to the kitchen, packed two honeycakes into a towel which he flung into his pack.

He pursued the way out of the house and farther away towards the border of the Imladris woods. He had found out during outings with his brothers, that she liked to climb the old beech whose trunk was immensely broad compared to the others, her mighty boughs intricately entwining and reaching out in all directions. Her dense foliage lent shade and shelter and even now that the leaves were fated to fall, she determinedly held on to her beautiful bright colour of the sinking sun.

There the elleth spent most of her time, high up in the branches. Estel settled at the base of the giant tree, his back leaning against her mighty trunk, and waited. There was no sound in the tree except the soft, steady rushing of the light breeze stirring the sunlit leaves.

The scrabbling of a squirrel who moved swiftly from a low branch towards the tree's middle suddenly caught his attention. The creature just stopped to grace him with the blink of a black, beady eye and then in a flash of reddish-brown fur, it disappeared into a slim burrow in the wood.

Estel laughed softly to himself, as he thought of how it would be easier to feed the honeycake to the squirrel than to the other creature up there. He knew not how it had come to him, that they could possibly share this afternoon refreshment. How could he offer it to her, if he was not even sure she was up the tree? He had felt guilty for his thoughts towards her and wanted to make amends. But what if she wished not for his company? That could actually be the reason for her complete silence. He knew that if their visitor was there, she surely must have sensed him. Discouraged Estel sighed and reluctantly gave up his intent. Still, he left the small cake on a low branch, just in case she might appreciate a pastry.

He ate his own cake on his way home, and he wondered if she had been there and if in this moment she would bite into the sweet as he did. He pondered on whether he should have tried harder, and not given up before even attempting to call on her. He had to try harder.

The following day Estel convinced his brothers for an afternoon tea and sweets under the old beech.

"These days are bright and beautiful outside. Let us enjoy them as long as they last," Elrohir agreed with a radiant smile.

"Then let us be off right now. I fetch a basket with cakes and you prepare and add the tea. What say you?" Elladan suggested.

And so they did. Soon they were out on their way to the beech. Their spirits were light, brightened by the warm rays of Anor as they walked and talked in brotherly closeness.

"What a day!" Elrohir said and climbed up the tree to a good level. Estel held his breath as Elladan followed. He wondered if she was up there.

The squirrel he had made his acquaintance with the day before came scrambling and leaping from branch to branch to retire into his burrow in the tree, after curiously darting his jittery gaze, somewhat hastily from elf to human, to elf.

Estel worried that if she was in the tree, they might scare her to the upmost branches, where she would seek to hide. It was not his intent for her to fear them even more. So he called the twins to join him at the base of the tree for the sweet afternoon meal. Elladan landed lightly on his feet, sliding from a lower branch, soon followed by Elrohir.

"Very well Estel, let us enjoy our tea and each other," Elladan ruffled his young brother's hair affectionately. They laid out the meal and Estel took a honeycake and placed it upon a low bough like the day before, and hoped that if she was there she would get the sign meant to invite her. Elrohir looked at him questioningly, slight confusion creasing his brow. "What are you doing? Is this meant for the squirrel?"

"Worry not Elrohir, I know nuts are better for it. But leave the cake where it is." Elrohir shook his head failing to understand, but Elladan and Estel were already dedicating themselves to the pastries, and so he reached for his part, and comfortably lay down, his head pillowed on a moss-covered root. As he lay there on his back, face up, something caught his attention and he frowned, reaching for Elladan's shoulder who lay close, propped on his elbows.

"There is something… no… somebody up there," he whispered around a mouthful of cake, "… it is her." The twins looked at each other, and then their identical gazes moved over to Estel.

"You knew…" Elrohir mouthed the words silently and slightly accusing.

Definitely they would notice her, they were elves after all. It seemed that she also knew hiding any longer would be in vain because she slowly climbed down towards them.

"Come and join us Lady Mîaddar, for sure you would appreciate cake and tea." Elladan invited her.

"Please… just Mîaddar," she said hesitantly, still descending.

"Then Mîaddar, there is a cake on the bough just up here, can you please collect it on your way down?" Estel said, almost casually.

Mîaddar glanced down from the tree almost teasingly, "I thought you wanted to feed the squirrel, not me."

Estel crafted an appalled mien, "Have you left it to the little beast?!"

"Of course not," she said timidly, "it is not good for it. I had to eat it." She gravely replied.

The statement sounded so genuinely earnest, that it made Estel laugh. He knew not really if she played the game with him in front of his brothers, or if she really was serious. But then shy sparkles of mirth gleamed in her eyes, she chuckled softly, her hand covering her mouth as if trying to hide the light sound of laughter behind. Estel was surprised, he had not thought it that easy. It was as if she had hoped of something like this to happen as if she openly seized his efforts to help her approach them.

They stayed until late in the afternoon; the brothers eagerly telling stories of their good times in Imladris and with the rangers in the wild. The sunny day lifting their spirits, and making their tales shine with mirth, and joyful playfulness. And Mîaddar listened...

She was a quiet listener, never interrupting, patiently following, and from time to time, when mirth appeared in her eyes, laughing her soft, slightly raucous laughter she protected behind her hand.

That day a light had awoken in Mîaddar's eyes, at times brushing the sadness aside. She even joined the family for meals sometimes, as she was invited to do whenever she wished.

The brothers discussed, spoke and joked eagerly, as they often did when they were together. Mîaddar listened with interest to their tales of adventures and the thoughts they shared and participated with a smile or a laugh in between since the conversations were often not lacking mirth or a teasing joke ever so often.

They could see how her eyes were begun to shine in their company, and that alone encouraged them in their creativity.

The twins knew deeply what devastating burden grief could be and how it was painfully heavy on the fëa. And to share the ray of sun their young brother had brought was a joy to them.

They emanated strength and serenity in such a way that she felt they deeply knew both joy and grief, and therefore they could consciously enjoy and value the mirth as a gift.

How long had it been since she had last laughed or even managed a smile that would reach her eyes… It felt so good! So... freeing.

* * *

_(Estel)_

One night I see my brothers sitting on the bridge. Mîaddar is with them. They dangle their feet watching the sparkling waterfall in the dim silver light of the diminishing moon. I slowly approach and reach, and then I silently sit beside her, also dangling my feet.

They are speaking of _her_.

I hear Elladan's voice come from deep inside his heart where he treasures the memory of his mother. "… She was strong. A shining warrior. Determination glowing in her eyes. But gentle she was also, gentle and graceful,"

Elrohir continues in his brother's trail of thoughts, "I have this image imprinted in my heart and mind of her standing tall, the sun tickling her straight profile. Skin smooth and elegantly pale. Shining, golden hair of flowing silk, wafting in the wind. Strength, grace and gentleness united. Steady and powerful. That is our mother. Ready to ride out and protect our home. And then her eyes, warm and soothing and her arms holding us close enveloping us with deep care and unbound love..."

As they speak they gleam, and their features are bright and beautiful. They are her sons, in all the grace and gentleness, and the strength and the force of determination. The shadow is gone. It lingers on them no longer. There is sweet melancholy, but also the trust that she is now at peace.

Mîaddar sits quietly between us. Her gaze fixed on the rushing water of the fall. I recall her warm, raucous laughter. And I find that I do not resent her any longer. Not at all.

At times the shadow returns upon her. It is her shadow, not ours. She is not free of it. Not yet. And something tells me she still has a very long way to go. - We all do. - But I have my brothers, my father, my fellow rangers… Arwen! We all have each other. But whom does she have…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and the kudos. It makes me happy if people read and enjoy, and as every author I would appreciate so much to read your constructive thoughts. Thank you Rosenthorne for always doing so.
> 
> Thank you Ruiniel for your continued support <3


	12. Imladris - Memories and Visions

The tales never ceased in the Hall of Fire; tales told and retold, stories and memories treasured. Mirth, hope, fear, grief, laughter, tears, thoughts and emotions, all found their space in the Great Hall, and with the fire ever burning they never died.

They have loved this place since childhood, the elven twins and the young man. And that night, they cherished it once more, together.

Lord Elrond was sitting at some distance from his sons, listening to their tales. He enjoyed simply being close to them and hearing their voices.

His eyes followed the crackling fire as silent footsteps approached. Soon different eyes, deep black ones, joined him gazing into the same. The flames mirrored in their glistening darkness, flickering as those eyes were fixed on them. **  
**

* * *

The brothers' voices changed in tone according to the intensity of emotions in their tales. The sound lulled her deep into her own thoughts, into her dreams and nightmares. It opened her to memories. **  
**

As the hour became late their voices slowly ceased, but her thoughts carried on. The emotions simmering inside of her became unbearable. Her vision was misty, and silent tears began streaming down her cheeks.

Closing her eyes she released a deep, hitching sigh. She knew that Elrond was listening to her soundless emotions. And then, unexpectedly, her soft voice broke the silence.

She did not care that they would hear it too.

And they did hear...

"We were burning, burning with passion and the fire of hope. That fire was my reason to stay. I thought it was right; for the free people of the South, for the lands I loved!...

Those people fighting bravely against the shadows threatening to swallow everything dear to them - dear to me...

Their fight - my fight!

Pain and sorrow... devastation!... I have seen so much more than I had thought bearable. My hands... the hands of a healer..."

And she lifted her hands, slowly, gazing at them with mute terror in her eyes.

"...have fought, have healed, have cared - have lost!... Dedication... to keep the fire burning.

I have loved, passionately. He was the fire that kept hope burning. I knew he was mortal. I knew, someday our parting would be inevitable…

…but not yet, not then!

He was strength, he was hope, he was fire!... so bold and invulnerable he seemed. **  
**

And then, one night, on a battlefield of the Southern Lands... that fire extinguished.

I had failed! – failed him, the people and the Land of the South… I have failed hope... **  
**

His dark skin, always shining like brown velvet in the moonlight, was now dull and grey - spent! Blood... so much blood!... He was cold... so cold! The fire had gone..."

A sob escaped her lips, reaching from deep inside her chest with rising despair.

"I carried him home, buried him.

A farewell forever. **  
**

I listened to the trees, their lament... until I had no tears left to shed.

I left, searching for nothing and all... under the moon, into the desert...

Found open welcome and deep respect, but not what I was searching for."

Her voice dimmed to a distressed whisper.

"I lost all reason... know not where to go.

I lost all hope... and now I am alone.

What am I still here for? What is my purpose?"

Her words came in fragments of sentences, the meaning bursting all at once, formless. Confusion lingered in the air around them long after the words died on her lips. Her chin sank to her chest and she buried her face into her hands.

Nobody spoke, but for whatever reason, the silence did not weigh heavily upon them. The fire was crackling lightly and its warm light emanated comfort. Nobody rose, nobody moved for a long time.

Finally, Elrond cast a look towards his now sleeping sons on their pillows, huddled together in the bittersweet air that hung in the hall. He left and returned with blankets, offering one to Mîaddar, who was still up leaning against a pillar.

He stepped over to his sleeping sons and covered them each, with the caring smile of a loving father. His sons had grown to be seasoned warriors, had gone through adversity which Elrond would have wished to spare them from. But when they were all back together in their home, at times they were gifted a fleeting reprieve from it all. Their father was always there _,_ to offer them care and comfort.

As Elrond sat down close to them, he looked upon the pale and noble features of his sons. So young they looked to him, who had lived through the Ages, and yet they were already marked by the grief and hatred that had threatened to consume them. His heart ached as he thought that he could have lost them. If not for... and his gaze came to rest on Estel, his youngest. The elven father caressed the young human's cheek fondly, gently, not to wake him.

 _'Estel - Hope - you think yourself invulnerable sometimes. So young, so bold...'_ he sighed, with unbound affection and a hint of trepidation in his heart. He always would see in him the lively boy who had brought joy and commotion to the house, when they all most needed it. And yet he had grown into a man of strength and determination, a man born to be a leader. He carried this burden with valour and steadfastness of spirit, even if at times the weight of the future lay heavily upon him.

* * *

Late into the night, or early in the morning it was.

Estel heeded a voice, trickling into his dreams. He was in the desert. A cool night around a warming fire...

The song was shaped by emotions, the tones much like the ones sung by those people around the fire. Pure passion slowly enveloped him, carried him with, as the careless wind would a leaf.

_... Elrond saw the dream behind the shut eyelids of his youngest._

A melody of strength, of hope, and beauty...

A lament; a voice of sorrow, of struggle and of pain.

The voice, rough and pure, coming with the contrasts of feeling...

_... Elrond sensed it all, deeply and with every fibre of his being._

A song, similar to the songs of the people of the desert, where his dream had taken Estel to; yet even more enchanting and intriguing, with the fair but strangely raucous sound of this particular elven voice and melody.

It was an elvish song of the South.

_... Elrond listened to her and the strangely unusual tones, running shivers of powerful, beautiful and bitter emotions over his skin._

~.~

Black panther on a moonlit night,

fire sparks on a nightly plain,

waterdrops like pearls on velvet skin,

deep sea in the eyes...

run, hunt, dance,

black panther; wild, strong, proud...

drops of blood, like rubies on the smooth skin,

elegance, the grace of a warm night,

sun rays in the morning heat;

A horizon of fire...

eyes of the sea, dark as the night;

Land of the South...

red reflections on the nightly river,

rubies hidden in the deep dark,

secret of Arda; hope...

run, hunt, dance,

black panther; fast, silent, light...

sun rays over a strong body,

water pearls running down smooth skin,

falling onto the moist earth;

fire sparks...

Land of the South...

black panther,

run, hunt, dance,

you are silence, grace, elegance,

part of the water, the fire and the earth,

you know the secret, hope, life, death...

~.~

_Elrond slowly rose, touched by the feelings, the images, guided by the dream towards the burning fire, on silent footsteps._

Drifting in and out from dream to vision, Estel saw a warrior, evoked by the song; moving with agility, fighting, performing a lethal, graceful dance with the tearing melody, with the passion **-** a dark silhouette against the nightly sky.

And as the slender body spun around, the moon illuminated a fair face, bright, long hair spilled around his handsome features with the force of movement - and suddenly that warrior was the elf he loved like a brother.

_... Elrond saw it in the flickering flames of the fire; the slender figure - black against the flames, fair as he closed his eyes._

_…and the trickle of blood, confounding with the flames._

The dream brought Estel back to the campfire. Legolas was by his side - his friend, his brother of the heart!

And then the dreams took him other ways, ones he could no longer remember when his eyes opened that morning in the Hall of Fire. His brothers were stretched out beside him, already awake, watching him with pensive tenderness in their eyes.

"You sleep long, little brother."

Estel blinked. The song and the fragments of dream related to it were still present in his mind. Still drowsy, he frowned into the dazzling daylight that flooded the vast, open room.

They were alone in the Hall of Fire, the ever flowing flames now dimmed by golden morning light.

* * *

Estel was quiet throughout the day - and so were the elves. He could still hear the song of his dream. **  
**

Had it been a dream, the song in the night?

He realized how much he missed his best friend. He had appeared in his dream; it had felt so real. He would soon come to visit. Estel awaited him with joyful anticipation. He would stay for the winter - most likely - and Estel was looking forward to spending much sought for time together.

Mîaddar was not to be seen the whole day after that night.

As the days went by she stayed on in Rivendell. The wind was culling the last leaves from the trees. She enjoyed these days, being on her own, and at times seeking the company of her hosts. But she treasured the nights of silence, meaning and deep words with Elrond in the Hall of Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading.
> 
> My greatest Thank you goes always to Ruiniel for her dedication in beta-reading.
> 
> And thanks for the new kudos, bookmark and review. Thank you for letting me know you are there :)


	13. Imladris - White Clouds, Black Light

"Mîaddar! Wait!" Estel called before she could disappear to spend the afternoon on her own.

"We are heading out for shooting practice. Would you join us?"

The elleth stopped in her stride and turned towards the man. She tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what to say.

"Join your company, anytime. But shooting... That is not really my basic skill... I do not know..." she revealed, hesitating and creasing her brow.

"Oh, worry not. If you like I could teach you, and there will be plenty of stories about the topic waiting to be told. You know us," he smiled, "My promise is that it will be entertaining."

"If so it is, then I will be glad to join you," she answered gratefully. Their company always did good to her heart. And Estel had this natural way to make her feel at ease.

Elladan and Elrohir rushed out of the house, both equipped with bows and a quiver full of arrows.

"Mîaddar will join us!" Estel eagerly announced.

Elladan smiled brightly, "I am glad to hear that." And Elrohir nodded at her in acknowledgement.

What she had not anticipated was that the training started with a run out of their dwelling and through the surrounding wood. A little bit puzzled she followed, speeding to keep up with them.

The run turned to a playful race between brothers, skidding between trunks, and skipping roots. Their laughter and shouts were ringing brightly, and soaring they joined the rays of the sun filtering through the leafless boughs of the trees.

As she ran in their midst, a strange, light dizziness lifted her, and Mîaddar felt as if she was flying. She felt alive with every fibre of her being. She had not felt that way for a very long time. With surprise, she remarked how easy it was to join in their laughter, and what relief it brought. Mîaddar remembered the times she was running up through the trees of her home; it felt as if it had been ages past.

They reached a beautiful clearing where sappy, long grass gleamed brightly in the sun. Their race came to an end, and Mîaddar gently touched the long strands as they lightly walked across the rich meadow. The lean grasses tickled her palm and the elleth enjoyed every little sensation.

Her companions halted in the middle of the glade. They divested themselves of their weapons and then sank down to lie in the grass, facing the sky and closing their eyes, enjoying the sun's warming light. Mîaddar watched them and leisurely followed suit. She breathed deeply the cool air of the late autumn day, now agreeably warmed by the afternoon sun, and carrying the fragrance of the lightly humid flora surrounding them.

Fluffy, white clouds wandered slowly in the blue above them, and they watched as they took on fancy shapes; their soft whiteness moulded and formed a dragon, changing to a butterfly, then a rabbit, even an oliphaunt. They made it a game to discover the fleeting, giant images ever and ever changing. **  
**

"We used to play this with our mother," Elladan said to nobody in particular, but Mîaddar felt he was explaining this to her without expecting an answer, "Anytime I watch the sky and discover the shapes in the clouds I wonder whether she is doing the same where she is now and whether she thinks about how she used to marvel at them together with us."

"I am sure she does," Elrohir replied with a sigh.

They stayed lying on the grass for some time in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

"Hannon-le," Mîaddar quietly spoke into the long, comfortable quiet. A grateful smile played on her lips, while the light breeze caressed her slightly flushed cheeks.

The shifting clouds slowly flowed over them and for long none of them seemed to want to break the peace they were basking in.

But then Elrohir picked up his weapons, beckoning Estel who soon followed him.

Elladan stayed behind yet some time lying beside Mîaddar, as if not wanting to wake from a pleasant dream. His brothers soon started to challenge him, and so he reluctantly rose and joined them.

This seemed to be their usual archery training field, Mîaddar remarked. There were targets scattered between the trees bordering the glade. The twins performed well in the art, and Mîaddar watched the fine archers in action. Their bodies tall and strong, danced alternately into position and tensed and released in line with their bows. Estel's performance was grand as well, as he aimed and hit the target striking but a grain away from the arrow of his brother.

She had seen them secretly before, mastering the sword, and then already she had not been able to move her gaze away from the way they united grace, skill and power in an action meant to kill. The young human had not the grace of the elves but he matched them strikingly well in strength, endurance and accuracy.

These were fine warriors. As gentle and quiet they appeared to her, as lethal and terrible she imagined them facing their foes.

They practised in deep concentration for a while, before they sat down on the grass and found fun in sharing stories about archery; and they were many to fill the time until evening. - Stories about adventures and misadventures, including the ones present, Legolas and their friends. Other stories praising skills, especially Glorfindel's, the ancient Balrog slayer, and Legolas', the Sinda prince of the Silvan elves, who was apparently able to catch flying arrows and send them back to the ones who had fired them, and who could split arrows repeatedly, catching the target with flawless precision, before an eye could blink.

Mîaddar listened to the tales, at times amused, at times appalled or terrified, and mostly amazed.

As enough stories had been told the twins retrieved their bows again to easily continue their shooting practice. The elleth unexpectedly heard Estel call her out of her musings, "Mîaddar, now you… try!" he encouraged her.

"Oh, I told you, I do not count this within my abilities. Since I was an elfling, while the others trained in archery, I learnt about the effects of healing herbs and how to find and use them. I have my long knife I know how to use for self-defence, but I am no warrior nor am I a hunter. I am far from that. In war I preserve lives, I do not kill." She explained evasively.

"Come let us try, I will show you," Estel offered, "Will you allow?" He openly asked her.

"If you have the patience for it, then with pleasure," she admitted gratefully.

Estel stepped close behind the elleth, letting her hold the bow, and explained patiently, while practising the movements with her - just as Legolas had done with him many years ago.

Legolas… how badly he missed his friend! He was on his way to Imladris right now...

The thought of how easily his friend had stood and moved then in his instructions made Estel feel slightly clumsy.

For some instants he imagined Legolas standing just behind the elleth instead of himself; his slender body behind hers, tensing with the bowstring, speaking softly into her ear, explaining and showing her the art…

...and releasing into a firm calmness with the release of the arrow, Legolas guiding the elleth in his flowing moves - a stunning sight to behold.

Yet, for now, he would show her, even if he reached not that elegance. With a smile, Estel spoke as Miaddar practised a shooting stance: "Legolas would be the better teacher. He has taught me all I know. Nobody could teach you as he would. And, it is only a few days before he will be here."

Mîaddar glanced just quickly back at him. She saw in his silver eyes a flickering light, like the dancing flames of a fire. Warm embers remained as Estel sighed in thought. It touched her. She would never forget the shine in those eyes at the thought of his dear friend.

"You miss him dearly," she said, a shy smile in her eyes.

Estel nodded with a sigh.

Mîaddar breathed the fresh air of Rivendell and the merrily peaceful atmosphere with intensity. It was a treasure she wished to imprint into her heart.

On the way back to the Last Homely House she was very quiet. She joined the brothers and Elrond for dinner, silently listening to their conversations. Elrond looked at her in soundless understanding. She saw in his eyes, how much the old elf lord knew, without anybody telling him.

* * *

That evening Elrond waited in the Hall of Fire until late in the night, as if he knew she would come.

Finally, Mîaddar appeared, silently as usual, approaching slowly because she knew he would wait.

She took her place beside him, like all those nights before, when she had sought the wisdom of this elf lord and the warmth of the fire. They sat quietly, peacefully, until Mîaddar broke the silence and spoke directly from her heart.

"I love this place. I love your family. You all have sheared the loneliness away from me. You have taught me how to smile again. You will be forever in my heart! - Yet, as much as I wish to, I cannot stay. The time has come for me to move on at last," she spoke with sadness in her voice.

"I know. - Imladris was but a stage in your journey," the elf lord said.

Tears welled up, stinging in her eyes, but she bit them back. Her voice was trembling as she then spoke her anguish.

"I am frightened. I cannot see the way... I keep searching, but what for? - All these questions, doubts... when will they cease?"

Lord Elrond's grey eyes sought hers, and she saw in them the calmness and the depth of one who had lived over the ages, of one who knew more than she ever could grasp.

"...the day will come when you will sail to other shores, young one. - But this is not the time.

I have seen visions of your song in the fire. - They still have not called you. You shall not leave these lands, not yet.

And do not despair, for you are not alone. As in this valley, and in the desert before, you will find acceptance and friendship on your way. - You found Imladris... you will find the next stages.

The world is caught in a struggle. The shadow is deepening, it grows greater. Yet hope is still burning. Look into the fire! See it! Do not let failure claim you. - Your people left their light with you. Do not forget this."

That night she stayed in the bright Hall, her eyes fixed on the flames, until long after Elrond left.

It was in the early morning hours that her lids grew heavy and black eyes glazed over into elven sleep.

She dreamt of a warrior, strong, dark and tall, battling against raw, shadowed creatures in a landscape of fire. His shape changed into the one of a black panther, still fighting, dodging, running and leaping nimbly at the obscure beasts, felling them. The panther turned into a slender warrior, black against the flames. His long hair spilled around his head with the speed of motion. Nimble as the panther he was in his moves.

Her heart pounded wildly. Confusing emotions of delight at the amazing sight mingled with a foreboding fear.

* * *

The coming morning was a chilly one. The days had become shorter, and the trees committed their leaves to the soil, slowly getting ready for the coming winter.

Mîaddar had not joined them for breakfast. She entered the chamber just as they had completed their meal. After wishing good morning, she announced quietly, "I have to go. Hannon-le, for all that you have done for me."

She inclined her head, placing her hand over her heart.

Elrond showed not any sign of surprise and nodded knowingly, returning the gesture, but the brothers looked at her with puzzlement written on their faces.

Just the day before she had spent the afternoon with them, enjoying their company, laughing with them and listening to their tales. She had participated, been part of them... and now, without the slightest premonition, she would leave, just like that... now, that they were getting used to her and to her quiet presence, now, that they had learnt to appreciate her and even her sometimes strange behaviour.

At first, they knew not what to say. They needed some time to let the message sink into awareness.

After a longer pause, Elladan spoke, his voice hoarse with regret, "These tidings reach us unexpectedly, but if this is your wish, may your further journey be safe."

"We are glad for the time you have spent with us. And I hope you can treasure it as well," Elrohir added sincerely.

"Oh, I will!... Believe me, I will..." Her eyes shimmered, but she bit the tears back.

"You know that this home will always be open to you, if ever you wish to return one day," Elrond confirmed that which she already knew in her heart.

"I would see you off if you allow me to. May I?" Estel requested charmingly, in a way Mîaddar could not have refused.

"Hannon-le, Estel," she smiled.

Then the elves bid their farewells, bringing their hands to their hearts and sweeping them off in their traditional way of greeting.

Quickly Estel made his way to the stables and prepared his horse. Provisions for the journey were brought to Mîaddar, which she accepted with thanks and stowed into her pack.

The black horse had been waiting for her in the yard.

They both mounted their horses and left the Last Homely House heading into the wood. They rode at a trot. Mîaddar seemed not to be in a rush.

They rode in silence, just the horses' footfalls and the soft sounds of the valley reached their ears. Mîaddar rode her horse unsaddled and unbridled, free without restrictions. She caressed the black mane and patted the strong neck, concentrating on the motions of the creature's muscles and breathing. From time to time she whispered soft words into its ear. Estel had the feeling, that she might have forgotten about his company. However, her behaviour was no discomfort to him, as he had become familiar with her strange customs.

"Where are you heading to?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I do not know. Calad will carry me. - Wherever to, it will be good."

So Estel just followed. She spurred not the horse, she was not guiding it. She simply let herself be carried.

" _Calad_? Is that what you call your horse? You call it _Light_? This is a surprising name for its appearance. It is a beautiful animal surely. But is it not pitch black, so that it is not even possible to discern it against the darkness at night or the shades at sunset? - Or do my eyes deceive me?"

"Oh yes, black it is indeed, a black so deep it emanates blue reflections when light falls upon it. - Know you not that black unites all the colours of the rainbow on earth? As brightly white they shine in the particles of air?

The Sirith have poured their light in this creature before they left. All the colours of light are hidden in this horse. It is concealed in black, and Evil does not see it.

The black of Mordor is a black of shadow, not of light. The deep black of this horse swallows the shadow, like the indigo-blue clothes of the Taruen swallow the sunlight in the desert, to protect them from the burning rays of the sun. - The horse protects its light and all the light it wants to hide around it from the shadows; therefore it goes unseen to the evil eye - or so they said - _Caladdolen; Hidden Light_.

However by now, I doubt of many things; of the light and the words of my people, it all seems unreal, far gone, nothing but a fading memory. - What if they just pretended so, to grant me the illusion that I am not alone? When they left me, abandoned to the burdens of these Lands…"

Her face looked sad and melancholic as she spoke.

"And yet… she has never failed me. I trust her with my life." Lost in deep thought the elleth caressed the animal again.

Estel did not reply. He let her words settle within him. He wondered at the way she appeared visibly confused and weighed down, and yet so surprisingly determined.

They rode on in silence for a time until Mîaddar brought Caladdolen to a halt.

The elleth looked at him with a smile, gratitude in her eyes, "Estel, thank you for everything! The stories, the smiles, the company, the deep thoughts, the jokes, the laughter, the honey cakes…" a fleeting flash of mirth lit up in her eyes, "You are special. I am glad to have gotten the chance to know you."

And then her features turned serious again. "Novaer, Estel!" And sweeping out her hand from her heart towards him, she turned and left, slowly disappearing between the trees.

He could not do much else but return the greeting since by the time words came to his mind, she was already gone. Still somehow dazzled by the quick dismissal Estel absently turned his horse and began to ride back, towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed ;)
> 
> Stay well and stay safe.
> 
> And always thank you Ruiniel for your great suggestions!


	14. The Old Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me mention that this story will not turn into a tenth walker. I know some like that concept and others do not. I just want to clarify as to not awaken expectations or rejection, since one passage here could suggest such.
> 
> This chapter is short, but I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you Ruiniel, you are always great at helping me.

With hope in her heart and new friendships to treasure, she rode across the lands, over the mountains, through snow and storm, chill and rain, through sunshine over green hills and woods to the unknown.

Slowly but constantly, doubts and uncertainty crept back into her heart and took hold of her thoughts, tormenting her restlessly. If peril loomed somewhere around her, it touched her not. Neither did she notice, nor did she care.

She missed sorely the new friendships she had won, the contact, the warmth... the life of her memories; the ones who had gone, all she was left with...

It was a constant farewell.

What was it that lay before her? What was it, that kept her going? Why was she still carrying on, when she felt so weary?

She remembered Lord Elrond's words.

They kept her going - that which he had seen in the fire...

The fire...

The night was cold and obscure. Even the forest was dark at its borders as she rode along them. She could hear the quiet voices of the trees. They whispered to her, as if they dared not sing in the darkness. She brushed their leaves as she strayed past, and they hesitantly reached out for her. The clouds in the sky blocked out the stars and the moon.

With her heart she called out for the moon; 'Ithil, please show your face! Do not leave me in the dark!'

As if heeding her plea, he split the clouds wandering the night sky and let his silvery glow shimmer through. In front of her, Ithil cast his light on her path.

In the soft shine an old man with long, grey hair and beard, clothed in an equally grey robe, appeared before her eyes. He was seated, leaning against a stone at the border of the forest, smoking a pipe. He seemed not surprised at the sight of her, as if it were the most ordinary thing on Arda, to meet elleths walking the borders of this dark forest at night. He greeted her with a friendly smile and an almost youthful glint in his indescribably old eyes.

"Mae govannen. You walk like somebody who lost their way. If you might; sit down and listen to the directions of an old traveller who has known these lands for a long, long time and then some.

The elleth glanced at the face of the old man Ithil illuminated with his silvery shine. He was speaking to her, as if it was a common occurrence to just sit down and have a talk with a perfect stranger, in the middle of the night, at the edge of a dark forest.

As strange as it seemed, she did what he asked, as though it was the most natural thing to do. She felt strangely comfortable in the presence of this old man with the youthful twinkle in his eyes.

He took his grey, pointed hat from beside him on the ground, placed it on his knees, and just waited, puffing out perfect smoke rings. And she simply sat there, intently observing the smoky shapes, because she knew not what to say and even less knew what she was doing in the presence of this old man. It was odd to say the least.

"You are not a traveller. You are on a quest," the old man stated into the silence after some time.

The elleth did not react. This one seemed to know what she herself did not, so she resolved to listen and hear what he had to say.

"... a quest to find light; the perfect light," the old man continued, not bothering with her silence.

"...just as those elves, who left everything behind in their quest for light, to be free; convinced they would not find it where they lingered way back in the days; duties, rules and a history perceived as a hindrance, binding them, keeping perfect enlightenment out of their reach.

They found light and they brought light; the light they were carrying within them, like their ancestors and their people, which they left behind.

As everywhere on Arda they found shadow and darkness as well. Yet in darkness, the light shines ever brighter, unions and friendships are built and grow strong. It is love which carries hopeful souls through the threat of evil. **  
**

She found the old, grey man speaking about her people, and she found that hearing him speak of it all felt unusually right, and came easy.

"What are you searching for, _penneth_?"

He called her _'young one'_ \- did he know how old she was? - And why was he asking of that which he appeared to know, or seemed to 'think' he knew?

"I do not know. I am lost," came the sincere answer, in a voice tinged with sad weariness. "My people are gone. They are only a memory to me. I no longer know where I belong, or why I even stayed. Why am I still here? - I know nothing. I am... I am lost!"

"You are not lost. You are a _Sirith_. You are still on the quest, and they are with you. They left you their light," the old man consoled, and she found it comforting and completely normal to be soothed by this stranger.

"...as the Sirith left everything behind, they experienced the chance of new friendships, of new unions. They searched in places even darker; they went through the desert, where every small life struggles to live, where every drop of water in the dry wastelands is of great importance and highly cherished. They met the Taruen who knew how to cherish life in their rough homelands since times of old. They brought their light to them and their light was enhanced by those humans who knew how to nurture it. They chose to go South, where darkness was growing each day, to find light... or to bring light? - Light they brought, and light they found."

"The light... I cannot see it anymore," she whispered, despair marking her eyes.

"You are carrying it within and it carries you forth. I can see it! I can see darkness coming, taking control over these lands, more and more, creeping up from the East and from the South. I can see a quest; one great, important journey, uniting races and people once more - danger, darkness and suffering... and friendships growing stronger each day - hope fading... love rekindling it...

This is not the time for you to despair! It is not your time to leave. You are still riding the quest of the Sirith and it will meld together with the quest that is coming. The threads of the quest I speak of are already winding together. Friendships are building, and you are already a part of it all. You do not yet know it, just as the others do not, but you are.

The quest of the Sirith is leading them back through you; like a circle soon closing at the point it began, at its roots they might finally find... _you,_ might finally find what you are searching for. Then you will know, and then you can surrender to the call you are heeding already from far. Then you will know the time has come."

The elleth sighed deeply. "Lord Elrond had said as much to me... May he forgive me for doubting his words!"

"Lord Elrond is a good friend and a wise elf. What he said, he saw in the flames."

The elleth nodded. By now she was no longer surprised that this old man knew the elf-lord, and was even his friend. It astounded her even less that he knew about the fire in the Great Hall of the Last Homely House, and what was written in it.

This old, grey man was strange – so very strange. But she found that she liked him. He emanated comfort. He had answers. She had so many questions, too many to bear. She wanted to ask them. All of them. They were boiling up in her, close to breaking the surface, crying for answers. Her heart was hopeful. She glanced at him expectantly _,_ but as she tried to open her mouth he stopped her midway. **  
**

"Ask nothing of me!" said the old man determinedly, "I know no more than what I told you. I know not the future. People always tend to expect too much from me," he grumbled, "I am simply certain of what I spoke," he then added more agreeably, "I believe it!"

With that, he left her open-mouthed, and most confused. Mîaddar tried again to say something, but she only managed a few failed attempts, staring mutely at him with wide eyes.

"Let me introduce myself," the old man said genially, eyes twinkling. "I am Mithrandir, one of the Maiar, and of the Istari. I need not know your age to call you _'penneth'_. And now rest for the night in this place. It is safe. The elves still control this part of the wood."

The elleth stared at the wizard with large, dark eyes. The Maia smiled and his eyes twinkled again as he rose. He put his pointed hat on his head, took his long staff, and turned to leave into the dark night-forest, leaving her thoroughly baffled.


	15. Who Are You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters which are playing in Helm's Deep are following movie verse, where the people of Edoras all moved to the Hornburgh for protection.
> 
> This chapter is set right after Aragorn arrived at the fortress.

He had tasted the bitter, unbearable loss of his friend, his brother. All hope had slipped at once from his grasp, dragged to a deathly fall, and swallowed by the abyss. Grief had dug its claws into his chest, crushing him with devastating pain. Estel was gone, violently torn away from him. A friendship grown strong over decades, now abruptly ended, torn apart with merciless finality. And with Hope gone, dark visions of all-claiming doom upon Middle-earth had surged and gruesomely tormented him.

The humans in this stony place seemed far away, unreal; he barely perceived anything of his surroundings in his hazy state.

As he stood, heavily leaning against cold stone, desperately trying to deal with the unimaginable, something touched his senses; he perceived a flickering glimmer making its way through dark surroundings, moving towards him. And as he lifted his gaze to discover what was reluming his heart and breaking through all-claiming grief, Legolas saw him.

Against all odds and by the grace of the Valar alone; he was alive! Dark locks caked with mud, clothes torn, revealing bruises and cuts, and ardent eyes like liquid silver, strong and resilient; this was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the hope of Middle-earth, and simply Estel, his friend, his brother of the heart. He had returned like nothing could kill him. A light refusing to be extinguished.

Legolas felt weightless as never before in his long life, he could have jumped and danced with joy, could have climbed the highest tower of the burg outright.

Their eyes had met and their hearts had spoken to each other. A greeting so warm, reserved only to the closest of brothers.

The elf's long fingers brushed the callous skin of his friend's hand. Warm and strong it felt, as he gently closed it around the jewel of the Even Star. Hope sparkled from those silver eyes directly into Legolas' heart.

"Come Legolas, we must find the King! Come, my friend, I need you by my side!" Aragorn said. Restless he was, out of breath, and ever determined.

Strong hands pushed open the massive door. Legolas watched as light streamed into the hall before them, revealing the stern features of King Théoden briefly brightening at the unexpected display, with no small amount of surprise.

Aragorn's voice thundered through the hall as he announced what he had seen to Rohan's King. The massive threat exceeded all their worst scenarios. War was looming and inevitable, right before them! A great army of Uruk-hai bred for the single purpose to destroy the world of men, relentlessly marching towards them.

"Please Legolas, go find Gimli," Aragorn turned with a softer tone to the elf, "I would have you both with me when discussing our following actions ."

* * *

Legolas left the hall in search of the dwarf.

Only now did the sight of his surroundings truly hit him. People crowded in every corner; the injured and sick ones among them, lain on mats and blankets on the ground or leaned against the walls. The smell of blood, strain, and sickness assailed him.

Added to the wounded soldiers of the recent warg attack, there were many women and children and elderly people who had been rescued after surviving from the marauded villages. Some of them had suffered injuries through the enemies' attacks and others were recovering from sickness and exhaustion, weakened by the long way they had taken on themselves, to find shelter behind the walls of the Hornburg.

Deep sorrow clutched at Legolas' heart as his eyes took in the scene. Misery surrounded him.

Some women had taken up the care for the sick and injured. Éowyn, the young and fierce Lady of Rohan was among them, managing the helpers. She gave gentle but firm orders, her face serious and pale, her eyes wide and marked by strain, yet burning strong with the light of determination.

As he tore his eyes away from the noble, fair maid, allowing his gaze to roam further over the humans in search of his friend the dwarf, Legolas' attention got caught by a slender figure bent over an injured soldier. Her moves swift and secure, she worked hard on stopping the blood flow from a deep gash in his side. She worked until the wound mostly ceased bleeding. The elf's eyes stayed locked on her nimble fingers while she stitched the deep cut marring the side of the unconscious man. Others took over the task to bind the man's torso when she moved on to an elderly woman who was trembling with fever. Legolas kept watching her as she gently caressed the elder woman's cheek, speaking words of encouragement before the stranger uncorked a small vial from the bag she carried. She let a few drops of the mixture fall between the dry lips. Taking the cloth from the water-filled bowl, she poured from the mixture on it and pressed the cooling compression against her patient's forehead. Gently taking the hands of the woman at her side she motioned for her to take over. Then she rose again, to dedicate herself to another patient in need.

Legolas followed her graceful movements as he watched the dedication she poured in the care of the suffering humans. Her long, dark locks fell lightly over her back. Some strands were held behind her head by a carefully ornamented silver brooch, keeping them from falling into her eyes while she worked.

As she rose once more, she sought and approached Éowyn, and exchanged a few hushed words with her. Nodding at each other in agreement they parted. Legolas noted the stark contrast between those two leading women. While the young Lady of Rohan was fair and pale of complexion and despite all her strength appeared fragile, the other one carried aught heavy and raw, with an almost unearthly calmness, which oddly reflected in the darkness of her long, raven hair. But with all her delicate paleness and golden light, the Lady of Rohan looked perfectly at home in the fortress of stone, while the other appeared strangely and utterly misplaced to his eyes. Despite the burden she seemed to bear, she moved with the weightless, yet sad grace of a feline enclosed in a cage. **  
**

And as she suddenly turned to leave, Legolas was struck speechless.

He discerned the faint glow of her amber skin, and the delicate point of her ear slipping out from between dark strands of hair. - She was unmistakably of elven kind! But hers was an appearance that differed oddly from other elves. He had not recognized her as being elven before. He had not expected an elleth among this multitude of desperate humans.

As she spotted the elf standing only some feet away from her, meeting his eyes, her motion halted, and for the length of a few heartbeats, they both stood perfectly still, their eyes locked in surprise. Hers were black, deep black, and almond-shaped, framed by dark, long lashes.

They struck him! His breath taken away by the shock, knocked out of his lungs.

Those eyes!

Confusion dazzled his mind and senses.

It could not be!

Who was she? What was she doing here! An elleth… alone in the midst of war-worn humans?

Legolas took a steadying breath to regain himself. Showing nothing of his puzzlement, he narrowed his eyes and evenly voiced the question.

"Why are you here and not among the safety of your own kin in these dark days?"

She answered slowly, without moving her eyes from his, slight defiance in the tone of her voice;

"I could ask you the same question..."

She paused and her voice softened, "For the same reason as you, maybe…"

She observed him closely _._

"I suppose **\- .**.. we follow the call..."

Her gaze strayed away, roaming over the people around them. Then her eyes locked with his again, and her look softened as the elleth silently sighed and explained;

"They are reserved, unsure about our kind, but the need is great when times are dire, so I gain acceptance, and every so often even true gratitude in return."

She said it with such gentleness as if it was an essential gift she sought and held dear.

"Then why are you leaving now? There are plenty of injured humans left here." Legolas stated. A frown creased his brow.

The statement was not meant as a reproach, and the elleth seemed not to take it as such since she answered as steadily as before. Still, a deep weariness marked her eyes. "I need to leave! My strength is coming to an end. My soul seeks rest. My energy needs rebuilding. They know now how to take care of their own people. I came to their aid owed to the calling... I have done my part. And now it is beckoning me back."

She spoke Sindarin in a particular dialect that sounded foreign to Legolas. Her voice was strangely rough and worn down.

The crying of a child drifted over to them, inevitably catching their attention. Legolas saw how the elleth faltered, but then the weary eyes filled with compassion and she could not help but reach to where it was lying in its mother's arms. Yet her movements seemed unnaturally heavy and bereft of the grace they had borne before.

The little girl's skin was covered with burns; flaming red, and sorely painful to look upon. The elleth took a small pot from her bag and gently spread the ointment on the little one's wounds, with fingers so careful the girl stared at her wide-eyed and uttered not even a sign of distress. With a sad, compassionate smile the elleth delicately ruffled the little girl's locks and then handed the pot to the mother. She firmly clasped the woman's shoulder and nodded at her with encouragement. She rose again. And Legolas noticed that even that motion took her much more effort than what it should have.

Legolas stood unmoving, intently watching her as she pulled the hood of her light, silver-grey coat up over her head. She slightly flinched as she met his gaze again, seemingly realizing that he had been observing her all the while.

But she composed herself quickly. Unexpectedly returning to his question from before, she spoke, "Some time ago I was thinking about precisely what you asked me now. I wanted to save the whole world from suffering."

Her look swept far away, unfocused, as she floated on memories. Legolas felt as if the elleth was looking right through him, to a distant, unknown place.

She went on speaking, her voice as raw as before. "I had to learn from it... I was there healing the wounded… so many... so much pain and need..."

Her gaze widened, which emphasized the growing forlornness clearly perceptible in the tone of her voice,

"I worked relentlessly, despaired at the horror of all-encompassing death and destruction… I saved many lives, but I lost so many more… And every loss came with harsh, deep pain, trenching me… it fueled guilt for my powerlessness to save them… until all of my awareness was inundated by the charge of this self-imposed responsibility that I could not match."

Her voice turned grave and matted,

"When the call came, I did not hear... I was too occupied...

The call was strong... but my senses were too taken to perceive it..."

For a brief moment, she seemed to become breathless, immersed in the emotions of her memories,

"As I finally heard it, I ran, pressing my horse to race with the wind..."

Her gaze dropped to the ground, in defeat and guilt. Her voice flattened, became choked, almost soundless.

"But when I got there... it was too late."

Legolas saw her dark eyes glazed, filled with unshed tears as they again met his.

While she spoke, the elf stood completely still, utterly shaken and paralyzed. He studied every single expression on her face, listened intently to the coarse, grave sound and meaning of her words, searchingly.

She lowered her head and shut her eyes, only for a breath, just to look back up at him again.

And as the elleth then spoke, she pinned him with an enigmatic, lost gaze. Legolas could not discern if she was looking at him or right through him.

"This time... I cannot be late..."

Her voice was low, resounding in his ears with that strange, earthy melody, and in a way, as lost as that gaze; as if she herself did not understand what she was saying, or why.

Then suddenly she flinched again, shaking her head in distress. "I have to go!" she gasped as if running out of time.

They both held their breaths as she passed by him. And in that very moment, it felt to Legolas that a flashing pain stabbed his chest.

She had turned away and was rushing down the path.

The sudden, near ghostly affliction, forced his lungs to exhale in a rush with the ache, and his hand shot up pressing against his chest. He was almost surprised that he found no hilt of a blade, so vivid the strike had felt. His breathing came difficult, and his heart pounded heavily against his hand as he watched the hooded figure mounting on a tall, black horse. She left in a rushed gallop, without looking back.

* * *

She pushed her horse hard, heading quickly out of the valley. Her body trembled, her breath came short, and her mind could not release the image of the elf; of his fine, pale face, of their conversation just now, and of the secret she had seen in the limpid, silver-blue pools of his eyes.

Why had she revealed to him such private things? Was she getting so desperate in her lack of contact with her own kin, that the first time she met this elf face to face, she would bare so much of herself?

And then, the last words she had spoken to him - she knew not where they came from. She was struggling to find the sense behind her own speech. What was happening to her? Was she turning completely mad?

The whole puzzle had her more and more confused. This elf prince, close friend to Estel Elrondion - Was it him she had seen in her dreams? Could it have been him?

The tall, sleek fighter she had seen in the battles haunting her dreams; had he revealed his face to her right here and now, so unexpectedly?

Her dreaming eyes had been pried by his swift, violent dance, the lethal aggression, and the clean kills he performed with his bow and arrows. She had been stunned by the deathly grace with which he wielded the white and flashingly beautiful knives. Again and again, she had dreamt of the bitterly twisted fights. She remembered that last night in Rivendell where it began. Her dream then had brought forth the pouncing panther in the fire, whose shape had slowly changed into that of the warrior who stood out black against the flames. - But never had her dreams shown her his face.

She had seen the pure destructive aggression in those visions and she had sensed the undaunted strength in the elf facing her in the fortress of stone. And what she had seen in the depth of his gaze that day, unsettled her even more. There was something hidden deep in his eyes that struck her, that tore at her heart. And she sensed aught highly treacherous - a threat yet unknown – concerning him. The disconcerting feeling was gnawing at her. It accompanied her tenuously the whole way of her long ride.

She held on fast to the mane of her horse. She felt its powerful muscles flex with the speed of its race and the warmth of the beast's elegant body under her own. She strove to retrieve the strong, calming energy from its fluid motions. And she longed so badly to reach the sheltering forest who had welcomed her openly, years ago, when she had been homeless, and ever since had become her home.

She rode until the day and most of the night had slipped by.

She urgently needed to hear and feel the low, quiet voices of the trees. Their wisdom would calm her confused, reeling mind. The forest called to her.

At its battered border, great viciousness was at work, grown more and more destructive with the passing of time. The forest was being wounded, its steadfastness shaken, damaged by the rage of evil; thousands over thousands of years of life eradicated, felled, thrown into pits of darkness, devoured by the fires of betrayal. But still, the forest stood. It ever swallowed unwelcome and malicious creatures in its depths, offering shelter to life – stalwartly growing, living, contributing with all its power, for the sake of hope - for life to prevail over doom.

As she entered the forest's protection she drew the pure, fresh air of the wood deep into her lungs. Relief grew tall in her heart and rushed through her veins, releasing her tense muscles from their strain.

She felt a subtle change in the air, in the giant trees' breathing; a prickling, sharp spark that was not there yet when she left. The forest stirred and groaned. Something important had awakened. And as she listened closer, it flooded her senses akin to a tidal wave. All the hate and the anger the forest had suppressed for too long a time, boiled up in its murmurs, hot with green, vigorous fire. The shepherds between the trees were in motion, slowly but persistently moving towards their revenge. - Finally! - A hopeful smile played at her lips as she relished in the force of their anger. **  
**

The time was long due that the shepherds would take action, that the forest would rebel. She had long hoped for it to happen, but it had not been her place to compel. They had chosen their time without pressure. She prayed that the ancient and powerful, yet gentle and patient giants would be successful.

But too much was she caught in her emotions to participate in the uprising.

The forest and its shepherds would handle it...

She was only a small, irrelevant being under their shielding canopy. Her task was another, and certainly not to join into a colossal giants' battle. And the forest, while in turmoil, was still aware and careful of the creatures under its shelter, was attentive, present with the wisdom of ages; offered it all freely to her, and to all the life it harboured.

* * *

Legolas' gaze lingered in the direction she had disappeared. His mind tried making sense of it all as he forcefully struggled to slow down his rushed breathing and his racing heartbeat. With unease, he acknowledged that he was shivering. A spinning confusion fogged his senses. He could not dismiss the sharp longing constricting his heart, as a claw wrapped tightly around it. The amber skinned being was strangely enticing, and at the same time, something hung in the air between them that was baffling and frightening. The strangeness in the glow emanating from her fired his blood and sent it pulsating in a hot race through his veins. Her impenetrable black eyes, her raucous, quiet voice, her slightly haunted motions… He frowned, pondering. - Aught in her presence was painful and delighting alike.

* * *

Gimli's grumbling, teasing voice dragged Legolas almost violently out of his thoughts. He was startled, as though shaken out of a dream. Mild annoyance soared inside the elf when he saw the dwarf grinning. He had managed to turn the stick around this time.

"The dwarf startles the elf? – This point is definitely mine!"

Gimli's brown, beady eyes slightly narrowed, as he pointedly observed his tall friend, dipping his head back to get a better perspective on the elf.

"Prove me wrong if this looks not like my pointy-ear princeling has seen an elf maiden for the first time in his life!" He said, positively amused, his eyes gleaming with gentle affection, perhaps with the intent to ease the tension he sensed in his friend.

Legolas felt as though caught at something forbidden, that he would reveal to no one _._ He felt – embarrassed… irritated even. He went a light shade of crimson as he played his confusion and his unsettling emotions down, giving Gimli an amicable shove and a playful, pretend smile.

"Follow me, Gimli. Aragorn wishes for our backup. I came looking for you. It took me quite a time to find you short, bulky figure hiding among so many taller ones." He said with feigned casualty.

But then he added, skipping back to the game, "And here you are… roaming around, talking to all the burgh's maidens. Now is not the time for such luxuries, master dwarf..."

Gimli retorted, "You cannot blame me for the lightness in my heart at Aragorn's return. Happy I am indeed, and my relief chimes me talkative!"

He stole a sidelong glimpse upwards and groaned, "Besides, look who's speaking! What were you doing just now? Gawking at that pointy-ear lass..."

And he added, frowning and under his breath as if speaking to himself, "A strange creature she is, even stranger than you, and that is saying much…"

The dwarf eyed upwards, waiting for a reaction that did not come.

As Aragorn left the hall together with the King, they joined the two companions straight away. Legolas was pulled back into the present reality. The worried, silver eyes of his friend and leader on this quest spoke more than words. The gravity of the situation lay heavy in the air, threatening to overwhelm them. They had to prepare for a hard, impending battle. Its outcome seemed more than discouraging, if not thoroughly desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Rosenthorne for always leaving a note. I am so glad about it.  
> And as always, special thanks to Ruiniel for taking the time to beta-read and also for motivating me when I get discouraged.


	16. Unveiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the timeline of Middle-Earth, the Battle of the Hornburg begins on the 3rd March and ends on the 4th. On the 5th March Théoden, Gandalf and company reach Isengard. For the story let's suppose that they stayed on the Hornburg for two more days, there was much to organize and to settle, and the many injured could not be moved so early. Let's believe that the following events of the War of the Ring were all delayed for two days; a slight AU. – Ah, and I said some facts are following movie verse, yet there are no elven reinforcements in my version.

_The evening after The Battle of The Hornburg:_

* * *

Aragorn had retired on a viewpoint upon the higher level of the burg. Drained and beyond exhausted he was. The day after the battle had been long and tiresome. The dire necessity for his healer's skills had made any form of rest nigh impossible, not to speak of sleep…

So many deaths... So much sorrow. He had fought for the lives of those grievously injured; some battles he had won, others he had lost. They had buried the fallen and honoured their sacrifices as they highly deserved. Their hearts were heavy with the weight of their losses.

And yet, the day had been theirs. They all paid a high price, but eventually, with the grand appearance of Gandalf and Éomer's riders they had defeated the armies of Isengard. Preparations were now in progress for the upcoming departure to Edoras.

Aragorn felt shattered and desolate as he thought of the high number of lives spent, the sacrifice this fight had demanded of them all. And it was far from over; they were only at the beginning of yet unimaginable assaults to come. But at least he found the slightest solace in the temporary relief that they had been victorious. This alone allowed him to regather some of his strength. They were in the midst of war, and there was no way out and no way back. They had no choice but to move forward, fight, endure, and sacrifice… Absently he smoked his pipe, his gaze directed to the horizon; he was looking out for Ëarendil, with hope in his heart that this war could still be won against all odds, and against all evil. **  
**

His thoughts wandered back to better days, to the all-encompassing peace of his elven home, his calming haven in the reassuring company of his family; his wise, caring foster father, his protective brothers, and their lighter adventures in the woods together… to Arwen; her loveliness, her gentle comforting embrace, the promise of light at the end of this path of struggle and onerous darkness. **  
**

He felt a soundless approach. Soft footprints, not more than a breeze of wind barely brushing the stone, and something in the air shifting so lightly that any other man would not have noticed. But Aragorn had been raised by the Eldar and had therefore trained his senses to match their perceptiveness. Or maybe he had simply learnt to feel the closeness of a particular being he esteemed and loved greatly; a faithful light never leaving his side, ever steadying him through the direst of perils. No one else could near him in such a silent, familiar way. He did not need to turn in order to know he was there.

* * *

_(Aragorn)_

Legolas' quiet presence softly touches my spirit; a force so solid and calm and yet vibrating with intensity.

He clasps my shoulder and squeezes it gently. And then inadvertently he takes a leap, lands lightly upon the wall, and dances over to the cliff flanking the castle. With ever stunning agility he climbs along the ragged rock to settle securely on an outcropping and dangle his feet over the gaping abyss, regarding me with large, pooling eyes before thoughtfully averting his gaze. **  
**

Once again I wonder, why he always seeks out the most dangerous-looking places. I should be used to this unsettling habit of his by now since I have known him for most of my lifetime, but I realize that I may never get accustomed to it. It is irritating... it makes me nervous when he does this.

It is not the same when he climbs into the trees. The trees would hold him, they would never let him fall. But stone is motionless, numb, it would not react should he stumble. Though Legolas hardly stumbles; I know that.

But still, I have to resist the urge to call him down onto a less hazardous level. I know from experience that whenever I attempted this, Legolas would laugh at me and take delight in my 'fussing'.

Yet I know, that at the moment he too is in no mood for laughter. Deep shades are carved into the paleness of his features. He would probably simply ignore me, since it is his good right to take up whatever position he desires, and he has this aversion to being directed one way or another.

For a time we just stay content in each other's presence, gazing to the far horizon together - me on the safe side behind the wall, and he on his precarious outcropping - following our own thoughts.

I slowly lift my gaze to look up at the one who has always been by my side, no matter the choices I made, no matter how desperate their prospect. My gratitude is endless, as is my love for him whom I call my brother.

But now, I would be considerably more grateful if he left that cursed rock!

I move not my gaze from him, and of course, he senses it. His sharp blue eyes meet mine. And I can see in them a slight sparkle of mischief even now in the midst of darkness… He is my shining star. - And stars are free and soaring into the skies - He lifts my spirit. That is why I forgive him his unsettling habits.

I remember once more how fluctuating his state of mind is; in the blink of an eye, his temper can swiftly shift from serious and pensive to light and luminous. I notice how sad and worn he looks tonight. But even when he grieves he glows brightly _._ I have beheld with my own eyes how this elf I hold close to my heart can even lift the spirits a grumbling dwarf when he is in his direst of moods. He does it not only with his mirth and laughter, but also with his songs that the dwarf pretends to find annoying, but in truth has grown fond of...

To me now he burns like a torch of hope, in the aftermath of the atrocious battle on this burg of dark-grey stone; high up on the rock for the skies to see.

Nonetheless, I have to admit, that I am more than relieved when he springs smoothly down from the cliff onto the wall and to my side. I smile at him with gratitude, and he responds with an innocent smile of his own.

* * *

When Aragorn's mind was no longer caught by the elf's precarious position, his thoughts wandered inexorably back to the battle. The horror the heir of Gondor had seen that night and the following morning he found impossible to banish, no matter how hard he tried. The images reclaimed him again and again, like an unending nightmare; hideous, demonic beasts as far as an eye could see, slaying men and boys with their crude weapons... the blood cruelly spilt, the lifeless corpses littering the ground... and tearing screams resounding in the air.

Aragorn shut his eyes while releasing a shuddering sigh, tormented by his dark musings roiling in his mind.

Amidst this brutal scenery that lingered as a memory in the very air and the dread that refused to leave, the beauty of the elf beside him was striking. He stood straight and strong in the midst of oppressing surroundings. His features faintly glowed with the splendour of the Eldar.

And yet he carried a strong contrast in himself.

In his woods the elven prince had learnt to endure and shine even in the midst of darkness; his body taut, always ready to react and draw his weapons at the slightest sign of threat, his handsome face lost in thought, but ever on alert. Smooth were his features, but his eyes could turn to deep pools of fire and ice. They were the eyes of a being who knew of grief, for it was etched into his deepest self. He had ever tirelessly fought against the evils of the world, had never resigned. He was one who drew hope from living trees and strong friendships and gave plenty in return, as long as his heart would beat in his breast.

The presence of his best friend and all that he meant, lent Aragorn immense strength to face his destiny, and continue fighting for the future of Middle-earth.

* * *

Legolas' spirit weighed heavy that night. He thought of the lives lost, ended so swiftly. Fleeting, mortal lives, most of them too young to die. He could do nothing but deeply mourn their passage.

Yet in the midst of all this tragedy, he was still strangely shaken by the impact of what had happened to him the day before the fight; the pain that had pierced so deep was yet fresh and highly unsettling… but at the same time like a shimmer of slightly uplifting excitement, the unexpected encounter offered a distraction from the oppressing sorrow in the aftermath of the searing battle.

As the two friends stood together, united in quiet musing, Legolas was first to break the silence. In a low and hushed voice, he pronounced the one question that burned in his soul.

"Who is she… the elleth?"

Aragorn tilted his head and met his eyes with slight surprise flitting across his features. Legolas averted his gaze to the far horizon, concealing his face in the shade of his hood. He felt his heart pounding fast and achingly heavy against his ribs.

He felt the urge to leap over onto the rock wall and take up his previous position over the chasm. But he resisted. He needed not distract Aragorn. He needed to know! Maybe Aragorn knew more. He was from Imladris. He was Lord Elrond's adopted son. He knew many things about the world of elves, some that even Legolas himself would have no knowledge of, since Rivendell had always been open to all kinds of visitors and travellers, and many it had received and harboured within its safe borders.

Aragorn followed his gaze to the horizon. From the corner of his sight, Legolas recognized a slight frown on the man's features as he calmly began to speak.

"She is Mîaddar, of the Sirith, the elves of the South."

Legolas felt his friend steal a brief glimpse at him as if considering his reaction.

The elf stood completely still, betraying nothing. - _'Mîaddar'_ \- he let the name resound within him.

He narrowed his eyes questioningly. "The Sirith, _'the flowing_ '... How do you know?" His voice came in a low whisper.

He glanced up to the outcropping in the rock, just fleetingly, unintentionally, holding his hands firmly clasped on the wall before him, to make sure he would not impulsively give in to the longing for the height, which grew more demanding.

He recalled the scene around the fire, decades past in the desert, when the Taruen had revealed the story of their strong alliance with those foreign elves.

And then unexpectedly came Aragorn's answer.

"Mîaddar's grandmother was a Taruen, a seer and a healer, conjoined with the earth and the sky; Taria of her time. Her grandfather, a Sirith healer, esteemed by his people because of his humility and wisdom, was one of the Sirith-said to have left Beleriand in forgotten times. He was one of those elves who sought to flow away from the duties and rules of their elven legacy, who longed to escape any sort of bounds, seeking freedom and peace of mind in a place far away. They tell that he loved the desert queen from the first time they met. Mîaddar has the blood of the people of the desert flowing in her veins, which is the cause for her particular appearance." Aragorn explained.

"Later on, the Sirith also allied with another human tribe. The Ashinto, proud people of the southern woods, strong and deadly warriors, kept the South from being overtaken by the evil of Mordor for long years. The Sirith sustained them in their struggle against the vicious armies. Their resistance helped many tribes to be spared from fall and destruction.

The Taruen warriors, although reluctant in seeking fights, as we know are (and were) highly skilled in scouting their familiar wastelands avoiding detection. Their reports to the Sirith, about the invasive movements southwards, bore high significance for the resistance.

Yet, despite all their united efforts, the pressure from Mordor towards the Southern Lands increased. The evil powers expanded, finding malicious ways of creeping into villages and towns, overtaking them with brutal efficiency. The regions fell under the influence and control of the vile forces. Entire peoples were enslaved.

The Ashinto never relinquished fighting for freedom and helping the remaining free people to resist the attacks. But the Sirith, as they were surrounded more and more by the shades of darkness, could not linger any longer in those lands. Their power was fading, dimmed by the inexorable invasion. The light in the Southern Lands was vanishing, and their time had come to escape the darkness and leave for the West _._

They all sailed... apart from her. Her heart kept her on these shores, to sustain the fight _._ She helped where she could to alleviate the humans' suffering.

It almost broke her father's heart to leave his treasure behind. Mîaddar, _'her father's jewel'_ , in their dialect, most precious to his heart. But her decision was made and thus he had to accept it."

Legolas listened, eyes glued to the horizon, straight and unmoving at Aragorn's side. - He would not have guessed the Sirith had left one of their own behind, times past by the fire when the people of the desert had spoken of them...

Aragorn went on with the tale without being asked.

"Mîaddar stayed in the dwelling the Sirith had built amongst the giant trees of the forest. She would not stay in the human villages. She would leave to follow the call when she felt she was needed. But she would always retire to the place she called home. - A lone elf in the midst of a great elven dwelling, in the depths of the mighty forests of the South.

Her black horse joins her side whenever she calls it. She says that the creature is what the Sirith left with her; her company, her memory, her treasure. It runs free in the woods and on the plains because that's what she wishes. They claim that evil eyes do not see it, and unseen will be its rider - Caladdolen, _'hidden light'_ \- The Sirith have sailed, leaving a spark of their hope in the lands they left behind.

Mîaddar stayed, supporting a strong and bold Ashinto warrior, her beloved, the father of her children who left on the ships with her parents. He was the leader of the last free army of the South. He led the Ashinto in the war against evil, struggling and fighting despite all odds. Mîaddar cured the wounded warriors and the many desperate people left to suffer and often to die after the savage ransacking of their villages. She loved and supported their leader until the last battle, where grievously wounded, he bled out on the battlefield."

"She came too late..." Legolas spoke absently, now understanding some of her confusing words. His face was still purposely obscured under the hood.

"Aye," Aragorn continued, his voice low, "when she reached him, he was already dead. She could not save him. It nearly destroyed her. He was taken from her much too early, and with him, the last hope for the people of the South had left. Her grief and self-condemnation dug deep. She brought him to the woods of her home, to bury him.

She did not leave her lonely dwelling for three long years - maybe even longer - She lost count, she had no awareness of time. Her hope and the sense of her life on Arda were lost to her. The forest was slowly gaining its wild form back since the elves shaped it no longer. And to her, that was how it should be; the trees had lent the elves their beauty, and now that the elves were gone, they were taking back their own forms.

The last free army of the South was leaderless and weakened - defeated! Evil spread now freely, enslaved the remaining free people and conquered their lands.

After those years, one day Mîaddar called Caladdolen, who took her into the desert, where she found open acceptance and friendship with the Taruen. But although some of their blood was running in her veins, she could not stay. - She was not like them. She was not one of them. She was searching for the reason, the purpose which still kept her from sailing.

So Caladdolen carried her further. Mîaddar's confused mind made them randomly wander the lands. All she wanted, was to leave the South. But she had nowhere to go, no place to aim for.

Finally, Caladdolen found her way to Imladris, where Mîaddar sought my father's counsel. That is the reason I know all of this. I was in the Hall of Fire when she spoke to my father about what had brought her to our home.

She stayed with us for a while, spending much time on her own, walking through the gardens and the surrounding woods, and letting the healing power of the valley ease her pain. She enjoyed the company of our family and we managed to bring back a smile to her face, I think. Our jests and games between brothers were making her laugh, and so we kept nothing back.

Though, she never spoke much. She was simply there with us. And if at her arrival I resented her for the depression she had brought into my home, as time went on we trusted her to the point of sharing deep thoughts.

After she left, my father told us the story of the Sirith, their fate, as he had come to know it from her.

It seems he helped her find a direction. Her spirit was lighter when she left. Though, what it was that my father showed her, my brothers and I did not know and would never ask about."

With these last words, Aragorn fell silent.

None of them spoke for a while.

Legolas' muscles tensed, and he felt the urge to climb, gain height, feel free, with the wind tugging at him. Here on the stone, surrounded by walls he felt choked and unbearably restrained.

But he did not. He stayed at Aragorn's side, imperceptibly trying to match his friend's breathing.

One by one, as if coming from another source, the words formed on his lips, in a soundless whisper, "Those eyes... do you remember... those eyes in the desert?"

Aragorn furrowed his brow and regarded him questioningly, obviously not understanding.

Those eyes, carrying the heat of the desert and the piercing grains of the sand, in an unveiled face the faint shade of amber, and bearing the image and shape of the people of the moon...

"... they are old... she was no child... those were her eyes! The veiled woman's eyes."

As Legolas suddenly clasped his arm, Aragorn nearly startled. He felt the strength in the elf's grasp, and at the same time how his slender fingers trembled.

"I have not seen what you have, mellon-nìn," he managed to say, not hiding his puzzlement.

The elf slowly released his hold and spoke very low as if to himself, "Those eyes have been haunting me..."

And then he spoke no more.

His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of air. His hand came to his chest, where he felt his heart hammer, and he shuddered.

"She said, that this time she will not be late..." he spoke softly, his voice grave. He slightly turned to Aragorn narrowing his eyes, as though in expectation of an answer to a question he had not asked.

Aragorn held his gaze in acknowledgement but he did not speak, as if he was considering the unasked question.

Legolas could no longer restrain himself. Faster than Aragorn could gasp, he made for the cliff and balanced onto the outcropping. There he lowered his hood, closed his eyes, and took a deep, freeing breath as the wind playfully blew his long hair astray.

* * *

Aragorn sighed, closing his eyes in turn and rubbing his brow in mild exasperation. 'Just leave him,' he told himself, 'Do not say anything.'

The man and the elf stayed long under the night sky, wordlessly and in each other's company, watching the stars. Ëarendil's bright light kept the hope in their hearts alive, that the two hobbits out there alone, heading for Mordor, would survive, and eventually complete their difficult task. The future lay in the hands of those two small but no less brave creatures, their friends, and their hearts both constricted and swelled...

* * *

In a sudden motion, Legolas leapt down from his perch on the rock. But instead of feeling relief, Aragorn tensed this time as the elf stood beside him, gazing at him wide-eyed from under the hood he had pulled back up.

"There is something out there!" he stated in alarm.

Aragorn placed questioning eyes on his friend, alarmed, and prepared to hear what the elf's keen senses had seized.

"Out on the plain... vibrations, so strong I can perceive them from the ground! ... and voices, carried by the wind... they are dark... It is evil!"

Aragorn could see the elf's pale features grave and shaded under his hood.

"If a threat is still out there, so close, we have to eliminate it! The Rohirrim are planning to return to Edoras in the days to come. I cannot fathom what could happen on their way home." He said determinedly.

Aragorn fully trusted Legolas' perceptions. The elf had never been wrong when he gave such tidings.

"Come, my friend, let's get Gimli and ride out with Éomer and his Éored."

They had thought the battle with Saruman's beasts was over, but suddenly it seemed not so. What was still lurking out there?

Aragorn suspected that the outer line of the army of Uruk-hai could have retreated, as they recognized how the fight was most surely turning out for them. In the tumult of combat, they could have done it unnoticed. Now they could be waiting to take the unsuspecting humans by surprise. He would never expect anything comparable from a pack of orcs, but these creatures were a maliciously intelligent breed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here quite some more unknown history revealed.
> 
> As always a special shout-out to Ruiniel who never tires to beta-read for me.
> 
> For all of you who have not yet seen:
> 
> I have a new title out "Through Different Eyes" which is basically a collection of side-stories, mostly outtakes and scenes related to this fic. First story: The war and the scene on the Hornburg the day before the battle, seen through the eyes of a child of Rohan.


	17. Gleaming Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for display of violence and blood in this chapter.

Everything had been readied to leave. The riders just finished preparing their horses. Legolas imperceptibly studied their faces. They were grim and weary. From time to time he was eyed with mistrust or even disdain. He felt their resent of him thickly drifting in the air, for forcing them into this rushed nightly mission. He tightened his jaw and tried his best to keep his expression blank, focusing all his attention on Arod.

Éomer had given the order after Aragorn had insisted and convinced both the King and himself about the urgency of this action. Faithful and loyal to their captain, the men had complied, although Legolas could see the reluctance clearly written in their faces. Yet they had not dared to complain. And so, when Éomer's second in command suddenly spoke out his doubts, the horse-master listened but did not allow any emotion to show in his stance. The words were uttered in a hushed tone, not meant for the ears of their riders. But Legolas heard it all.

"With all my respect for your decision, Captain, we have just won this last, wearying battle, and paid a high price for our victory. The bitter taste still lingers. I wished to give the men a respite at least for a short while. We all know that stray creatures of darkness infest our lands, especially at night. There is no sense in exposing ourselves needlessly to their casual attacks."

If Éomer was enraged by his second's open critique he did not show it. He clipped the conversation short.

"If there is a significant threat looming out there, we cannot risk chancing upon it with a caravan of women and children on the journey back to Edoras." He spoke low, but with emphasis, his decision final. His eyes narrowed, his gaze was stern. Legolas had noticed that Éomer's belief in Aragorn had grown strong and that he esteemed the ranger's unshakable resolve.

Éomer's second lowered his head pursing his lips but did not dare to retort.

Legolas saw Aragorn sustaining the Prince of Rohan with his steady, silver stare. With an agreeing nod to their leader, he raised his firm and calm voice calling to the riders, "Let us ride out, for the safety of your people!"

Legolas helped Gimli onto Arod and then easily mounted to settle before him. He felt the dwarf's hand patting his back and heard his voice grumbling encouragingly.

"Worry not, lad. They will soon learn that the elf's senses are better to trust," and then he added, muttering under his breath, "Though I must say, I would very much welcome you to be wrong."

Something in the dwarf's touch and voice told Legolas that Gimli had caught his tension, despite his attempts of keeping it hidden. It was more and more difficult for him to hide anything from this dwarf.

* * *

The night was clear, the shapes of the land softly accentuated by the glim of the moon. The stars glittered merrily in the dark firmament, in stark contrast with the worn-down spirits of the riders. They left the Hornburg headed by the ranger, the elf and the dwarf, as well as their trusted Captain.

The wizard had remained in the stronghold with King Théoden, watching over the shaken and grieving people.

The tension of the men was spiked. The air enveloping the group lay thick with the weight of the lost lives of their companions, heavily obscuring their spirits. They were not allowed the reprieve, to mourn their fallen comrades.

Was there even a real threat or were they simply chasing a ghost that may not even exist? Heading out in the middle of the night, seeking for aught they could see no sign of. They had to follow, into the dangerous, shadowed hills of their land, one which had once been bright and free. All because of the unusual intuitions of an elf. They hoped this scouting would soon find an end and they could go back to the relative safety of the burg, to find some rest after the ordeal they had recently survived.

Though the elf had fought at their side, still, he seemed to them - ones not used to the presence of the Eldar - strange, unapproachable… even wild to those who had witnessed his untamed drive in battle. What was most striking about him was the contrast between his fair features, smooth like those of a youth just come of age, and his calm, steady composure. The breeze was stirring the bright strands of his hair as he rode tall and straight on the white horse. His ageless eyes bore unfaltering pride and determination. Strength he radiated and mysterious he appeared to them - dangerous! **-** They dared not to oppose him.

Legolas felt their silent suspicion and guarded distance. He could cope with that as long as he was with his friends. They had weaved a protective, brotherly bond between each other, that no outsiders could permeate. This unbreakable bonding provided him with the faith needed to withstand the persistent unease at the potentially dangerous suspicion he awoke in the men. In all the years he walked with the ranger he had sadly become used to humans mistrusting elves. He had experienced its cruel effects more than once. But Legolas boldly ignored the sceptical glances scrutinizing him. He focused solely on the signs reaching his senses.

His receptiveness peaked, he followed the direction whence the foul air reached them. On the horse with Gimli, he led Aragorn and Éomer, who were trying to read his perceptions from his guarded motions. He could tell that the two leaders kept completely silent, as not to disturb what was carried to him through the air. Only Gimli groaned sometimes under his breath behind him, cursing the speed of their ride, as he was tightly gripping his waist.

* * *

The stars glittered brightly that night. She glimpsed their dancing flicker through the trees above her. And the moon poured its silver light on the sea of nightly dark leaves, sending it trickling through the canopy. Yet, as peaceful the quiet gleam of this night seemed to be, an inexplicable agitation was rising within her. She glanced into the streaming rays breaking the dark, but instead of the usual peace, she found in them confusing images…

She saw him now, elusive yet clear, the warrior with the pale-golden hair. His body tensed and released with the grace of an elven weapon. His bow sang, his swift arrows cut the air with sublime precision, finding their aim; dark creatures fell, neatly pierced by those silent flashes. She saw him surrounded by a mass of foul beasts, fighting side by side with a dwarf and a familiar, dark-haired man. She saw his knives blaze in the moonlight as he felled the enemies with swift, measured moves. Every blow was lethal, like those in her dreams. But she was awake - this was no dream!

And there she saw his face, now revealed. - It was him; the elven prince. His fair features now hard and determined in fight. Sharp, handsome lines of persistence and strength deceptively caressed by a shimmer of silver light. His eyes flashed with wild fury.

His keen gaze caught sight of the dark masses of two Uruk-hai as they suddenly and unexpectedly rushed into the direction of the ranger, with the obvious intent of overwhelming him from the back. Largely undetected by the fiercely fighting man, they had their wicked swords drawn, readied for the lethal blow.

She saw them and she startled -

And then, as if in slow motion, she saw the elf darting towards the beasts, unfaltering, an amazing display of elven reflexes; his slim, deadly knives fell both foes at the same time, a fraction of a breath before they could reach the man. She heard the sharp hiss of breath he released as he struck them neatly to immediate death.

But then, she sensed more than saw, a tall shadow upon him; the figure of the huge, hideous creature who had followed his move.

He had to be fast to spin around!

And fast he was! - Faster than even immortal eyes could follow.

But the knife of the foul creature viciously found its way to its target as the prince whirled around to face it.

\- He had known! - She saw it in his eyes.

Choking a cry, she saw the crude weapon sink into the elf's chest. She saw the recognition of inescapable pain flaring across his features as he jerked back.

\- He had known that his agility would not suffice to shield them both from harm! -

With one last, stunning display of strength, he dashed forward and slew the beast with a dreadful cry of both aggression and pain.

And then he sank to his knees.

She saw his tunic quickly staining dark with fresh blood, seeping unrestrained...

And then, there was nothing. - As if she had awoken from a dream.

\- It had been a vision! -

Had it already happened? Or was it about to happen? Would it even come to be at all?

She knew not. It had been a vision.

She had not the luxury of time to wonder. - Time was precious! The call was strong.

It was dragging her - away from under the protective dome of trunk and branches that formed her dwelling - out into the forest.

She began running. But while usually, she moved light and swiftly in her element, this time she miserably stumbled. The trunks, branches and roots, may have even been bending aside and smoothing down to give her way, to bring no hindrance to her, but even _they_ could not help steadying her over-rushed steps.

How she was even able to move she could not fathom. Her mind swirled in uncontrollable spirals and was at the same time frightfully void from the shock. Her body felt strangely detached.

As her black horse reached her, she managed to mount it, albeit lacking much of the lightness with which she usually did it. But finally, at least, she was guided by it through the forest, now lying in heavy silence. The horse's rhythmical and rushed breath was the only sound that reached her ears; a sound of strength, of speed, of pulsating life, and of immediate urgency. Mîaddar's hands desperately clutched into the mane of Caladdolen. She was riding along in no particular direction she was aware of. They were trying to follow the call. But she struggled greatly to clinch to its voice, to get a mental hold, a semblance of sanity.

As they left Fangorn Forest behind, flying over the hills and plains of the Mark, another vision took hold of her. She saw the prince's fair face; his eyes were closed, a tear spilt from under his dark lashes and rolled down the side of his pale cheek, leaving a deceptively gentle glittering trace. The mockingly tender and bitter image made her heart tighten with painful longing and fear.

* * *

The Uruk-hai were camping behind a rock-chain on the valley's side.

Soon they would surprise the humans on their way home. - Their cruel minds looking forward to the carnage they would cause.

The humans would not be ready. They had won the battle. It was highly unlikely that they suspected a wicked, intelligent move from the ones they had defeated just yet.

In the chaos of combat, nobody had noticed how a considerable amount of the servants of Isengard retreated.

Krnkok, their leader, was inwardly laughing at the thought of his own cleverness. - It had been an excellent idea to keep himself at the outline of the battle! - As he saw how it was turning ill for them, he had taken as many companions as he could with him in retreat. - His master would be very content with him and reward him richly when their cruel revenge would be fulfilled.

* * *

Legolas' sharp ears discerned screeching voices and rough guttural sounds, surging from right behind the rocks. Highly wary, he slowed down the pace of his mount.

"We must leave the horses behind if we wish not to be discovered," he advised.

"Hear you all?!" Aragorn commanded the still mistrustful men, in a hushed yet strong voice, "We will continue by foot. We have to reach those rocks undetected."

As they caught up closer, even the humans could hear the troubling noises.

Legolas caught their stolen looks at him. And he heard their hushed whispers of acknowledgement between themselves. The whispers, although not meant for him to hear ghosted around in the soft wind finding the way to his ears in patches of sentences.

_… the elf was right… we have not given him credit… his intuition was true all along… the tales are true - their abilities are supernatural… how could he sense such from afar?..._

The confusion was written in their faces, and he could tell their brief looks at him were both awed and frightened, in this recent turn of events.

* * *

Aragorn bid the men stay behind and went off with Legolas to climb the rock. They crept to its highest rim, to peer down at the grisly scene.

The Uruks were sitting and moving around the campfires, appearing to enjoy their night, pushing against each other and eagerly discussing in their black speech.

A slight nod to the elf was enough, and as Legolas returned the gesture Aragorn knew that he agreed to withdraw and reach the others. - They had seen enough. And it was clear as daylight, that they had to cut this off that same night.

Aragorn took the lead. It now happened naturally. Stern and effectively he discussed the matter with the leading horse-master. Legolas silently stood by his friend, his jaw set, the increasing tension sharpening the silvery gleaming edges of his face. Gimli observed and listened sullenly, his hold on the handle of his axe tightening.

The plan for attack was quickly devised. They were outnumbered, but the element of surprise was on their side. If they could not seal it right on, they might not get such an opportunity again. They soon split to surround the camp.

In their festivities, the beasts did not notice the group of men, a dwarf and an elf sneaking up behind the rocks. As they remarked the menace, they were already caught in the middle of a battle, encircled by warriors of great skill.

Legolas' arrows nocked and hit, faster than an eye could follow, his fingers caressed their fine, lethal form almost solemnly as he drew and released rapidly.

Chaos broke out in the Uruk-hai camp.

Though the bulky beasts had been taken off guard, they had picked up their weapons immediately, and in spite of having lost quite a few companions in the first, surprising assault, they started to violently retaliate. They kept the humans engaged in what seemed to become a long-lasting fight.

The three friends fought side by side, surrounded by dark creatures. Their weapons met flesh with every strike. Aragorn was aware that one single, wrong move could prove lethal. It was arduous close combat. The beasts tried hard to separate them, to break their coiled force. To his dismay, he realized how the enemies succeeded to intrude and bring more distance between him and his friends. He cut down the beasts while trying to eliminate the span that separated him from the elf and the dwarf.

Aragorn saw Legolas' wild, grey eyes directed past him in alarm, and before he even realized the elf darted forward, his knives drawn. The elven weapons flashed white in the moonlight before they fell two beasts right behind the ranger's own back.

Struck by trepidation at what had just happened, Aragorn felt a shade upon them. Everything went too fast for him to grasp, in his current, shocked state. In sheer horror, he heard the harrying cry of aggression and pain leaving the elf's throat.

The shadow dropped.

As he spun around to reach his friend he saw the elf sink to his knees, his tunic at his chest quickly staining dark with free-flowing crimson blood. Aragorn caught the prince in his arms before he could fall to the ground.

There he was now, holding this wounded and most precious burden in the middle of a raging battle. The ranger felt entrapped in a nightmarish scene which for a long, agonized breath he refused to believe. The silver in his eyes melted with welling tears. Despair clawed at him. - But there was no time for despair, no time for its paralysing effect! And so his mind worked frighteningly clear and detached from the dazzling pain affecting his senses.

"We have to get him out of here!" he shouted to Gimli, jolting the dwarf from his unbelieving, wide-eyed, and mute misery.

Aragorn heaved Legolas up in his arms. The elf was too light to carry; alarmingly weightless.

Gimly fought to carve them a way through the battlefield and towards the rocks which stood like an anchored ship in the sea of the battle; a firm, solid promise of shelter. Aragorn followed as they rushed to a hollow which provided the best option to protect the elf in their current urgency. He carefully laid Legolas down, almost reluctantly releasing his hold of the now shivering body. It stung the ranger deeply that he had not the time nor the safety to treat his dear friend; the beasts were already behind him, and they demanded a quick reaction.

Locking worried, silver eyes on the matted blue gaze for one instant, Aragorn pleaded: "Please hold, mellon-nìn! I beg you…"

The elf's lips slightly parted as if wanting to answer, but all he managed was a painfully rasping intake of breath.

 **"S** tay with us!" Aragorn cried, his voice broken. And then despite his despair, he was forced to immediately turn and resume fighting, to defend his friend's shelter.

"Gimli, do not leave him! I will lead these beasts away from here!" he shouted to the dwarf who was about to dispatch his last close attacker, burying his axe into the creature _._

The ranger's sword hauled through the air striking wicked, powerful flesh; he distanced himself, drawing the horde of aggressors away from his friends. Knowing that Gimli would defend Legolas with his own life, he kept the beasts engaged in a bitter fight. The worry for the elf was close to swallowing him whole. It drove him into aggressive anger, pushed him to the edge of sanity. He slew the foul creatures with effective and ruthless rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Rosenthorne for every review, thanks for the new kudos, and especially to Ruiniel for beta-reading and always reviewing (on ffnet). You are great!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading, and wish you all stay safe.


	18. Leave Me Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be on the safe side: Warning for depiction of grave injury and blood in this chapter.

His own desperate and choked scream of dismay lingered viciously in his ears, echoed harrowingly within his pounding head as he crumbled to his knees beside the injured elf; one who had so unexpectedly become his friend. In his mind, he saw the orc-blade strike again. He felt the sickening pain, sharp and burning in his throat as if the blade had hit him instead. His eyes locked on Legolas' now glazed, blue ones in anguish and disbelief. He was unable to act for a moment which seemed unending to him, unable to even breathe, frozen in terror and shock, incapable to grasp the fact that it was real. The only movement he managed, was that of his eyes, leaving his friend's to stare at the crimson flood welling from the deep gash in his chest with every heartbeat.

With the gasp of one drowning Gimli tore himself from the paralyzing clutches. His hands shot to action. His palms frantically pressed against the gaping cut, desperate to keep life within the elf's body… but the blood kept welling and pouring between his fingers, constantly, rhythmically, in mockery of his efforts. He tore a piece of his own tunic to use in his struggle to staunch the bleeding. The compression soaked within moments. He desperately tore another piece of the fabric, and another one again, to press on top – to no avail.

The blood kept streaming; soaking the crude makeshift compress, the dwarf's hands, the elf's tunic, and slowly, the ground around him. **  
**

"Don't you _dare_ leave me!" Gimli cried in despair, "Reckless pointy-ear! You cannot score me like this and just sneak your way out, giving me not even the chance for a rematch!" His eyes filled with tears, the lump in his throat made his voice tremble and hitch.

The elf tried turning the agony in his eyes to a tentative smile. Gimli knew that Legolas tried hard to reassure him. For a short glimpse, he succeeded. The dwarf attempted to cling to the memories they shared; he thought of the many taunts and challenges they had kept throwing at each other, from the very first time they had met. The challenges and teasing had developed from rivalry into a game. The being he had once despised had become dear to him, and he knew the elf felt the same. But the fond memory quickly dissipated, lost in that terrible scene, where all was wrenched and twisted. - How could it be that this irrepressible whirlwind of a creature, was now lying weak and dying under his helpless hands?

Gimli felt Legolas' weary eyes resting on him. The frail, glistening sheen in them made him appear far too young for one his age. A tearing plea surged from their depths as he sought comfort in the certainty that he was not alone while life was slowly draining from him, seeping with his blood. At that very moment, Gimli saw that Legolas was not ashamed of his weakness - he was frightened. His hurting state laid bare, he regarded the dwarf with an intensity that spoke openly of his gratitude for the familiar and dear presence of him, whom he had once rivalled.

Suddenly a terrible coughing fit took hold of the elf, violently ripping Gimli from his stupor. - A terrible sound; torn, wet with blood, and cruelly lethal. - The dwarf was forced to bear the searing sting of his own powerlessness. His hands still pressing against the bleeding wound, he felt the spasmodic shuddering, saw how Legolas desperately struggled to breathe. The elf's hands grabbed the ones pressed on his chest holding them tight. Pale grey-blue eyes fearfully locked onto the dwarf's, pleading for help. They broke Gimli's heart; they both knew there was nothing more his friend could do than to stay by his side.

Finally, the spasmodic coughing ceased and gave way to shallow, tearingly rasping breaths.

Gimli felt Legolas' heart race under his hands, in a last, desperate effort to pump more oxygen into the once strong elven body. But it was faltering, falling into an erratic, uneven beating.

Gimli's tears were now flowing freely, wetting his cheeks, his beard, and falling onto his dying friend, mingling with the bright crimson stream.

"Do not leave me, lad! …Please!" He begged. His voice was a broken mess, the words tumbled and tore. **  
**

Another cruel attack wracked the elf. When it was finally over, Legolas had no more strength left. The painful struggle had exhausted him beyond measure. His natural glow was gone. His fine features appeared unnaturally white in the moonlight.

Raw pain edged his face as his sunken, tired eyes once more locked onto Gimli's tear-stained ones, his voice barely a whisper.

"Gimli... 'm sorry!... my friend... please... tell Estel... can't… hold on... 'nymore... 've tried... 'm sorry..."

His voice failed him.

He moved his gaze away from the dwarf to the wide, open sky streaked with stars. His tense muscels slightly relaxed, and the lines of pain on his features softened as if the sight brought a measure of peace.

With a tearing sadness in his voice, he slowly slurred the words.

"Gimli… mellon-nìn... do not... let guilt... consume 'im!... You hear?... No... regret... I'd ... do it... again… And - … gratitude… t'you… for staying… with me… through… this..." **  
**

With those last, breathless words his eyes shut.

A tear spilled from under dark lashes and rolled down the side of a pale cheek.

Gimli felt the body under his hands go limp. The slight flutter against his palm was now barely palpable. The only thing he heard and felt clearly, was himself crying out in anguish, his own hitching breaths, his tears flowing freely. He kept kneeling beside his friend, unmoving, his hands on the too still chest, the hands of the elf resting on his, and could not feel the beat anymore.

Utterly forlorn, Gimli's blurred vision brushed over the plain, where the fight still lingered, distant and nearly indifferent to him. - They might even win this battle, but at what price! - He was losing a friend he had only just discovered.

In a state of deep sorrow and through tear-veiled eyes, he saw a faint light chase through the valley. Dashing over the battlefield, it oddly reflected the moonlight; teasing and tender, almost disturbing his eyes in the darkness that dulled his senses, and yet incomprehensibly depressing and catching his emotions. As it drew closer, Gimli could distinguish a dark-blue shimmering horse in a stretched gallop, mounted by a slender female. Her silver-glittering coat fluttered in the wind like the sailing wings of a night bird – or a herald of death.

In his precarious state of emotion, Gimli thought he must be hallucinating. The image seemed surreal. Bluntly gaping at the figure he noticed that it was heading towards him.

The rider halted the horse in front of the shelter, abruptly cutting off his sight of the battle, and dismounted in one flowing motion.

Gimli recognised the elleth he had seen on the Hornburg; the healer. In his pained confusion, he was oddly irritated. - Legolas had obviously been fascinated by her, the dwarf recalled. And now she had appeared out of nowhere. - How did she know? And why did she come _n_ ow when all was already lost?! Legolas had slipped away from him. What a paradox! How dare she come now?!

Gimli stared at her, consumed by the pain, and with scarcely suppressed anger.

"You come late!" he almost cried out.

_No! She could not be late! She could not fail this time!_

Her almond eyes wide open with anxiety, she fleetingly cast a disbelieving look at the dwarf, before gracelessly dropping to her knees beside the prince, ignoring the smaller being.

Her soft luminescence shed a shimmer on the elf's still form, making him appear too young and delicate - and broken! Gimli hated her glow in that moment.

He reached for Legolas' hand where it now lay abandoned on the ground, as if jealously taking hold of his friend. And he was almost startled at how cold it felt. He stared at the elleth and what she was doing, while he was cradling his elf's hand gently in his own, wishing to warm it. Despite the aimless anger and despair he undeservedly flung at that female elf, he caught himself kindle aught akin to hope - the hope for a miracle _._

But as he realized his thought, he became immediately resigned. - What was he doing?! Trying to hold on to an illusion?! It would hurt even more when the narrow bridge of irrational hope inevitably caved. - He could not move nor speak in his grief. He kept on staring wordlessly, as without hesitation her fingers worked on unlacing the elf's tunic, then unceremoniously tore the undershirt open and shifted the bloodstained fabric away, revealing the wound.

Gimli gasped, horrified at the thought of the damage beneath it.

Her fingers neared the deep cut but before they touched, she abruptly removed them as if the wound burnt. They trembled and she pressed them into fists with such fierce force that her knuckles turned white. It took her visible effort to uncurl them, only to reveal that they were now uncontrollably shaking. The shades on her face darkened. And then she gently laid her quivering hand on the elf's chest right over his heart, steadying herself and closing her eyes in the process.

Gimli watched her blankly. He could still not believe, even less accept, what he was witnessing. The despair within him rumbled, tormented him to misery – and refound anger. What was she doing, why had she come? To add her own despair to his? To show him his friend was beyond all aid? Shattering all, undoing his ray of hope for a wonder?

He wanted to shout to her his despair, to ease the unbearable weight of harsh emotions crashing down on him, of fond memories turning bitter. He wanted to have it all unmade, shout it out for her and all of Arda to hear.

_He is meant to be flighty, always on the move. Not still. That is not him!_

_He is supposed to taunt me, to joke, to sing and make me grumble. His stubbornness drives me mad and at the same time makes me hide smiles I do not want to admit._

_He is the one cheering us up when darkness surrounds, breaking it with his lithe laughter. He is the one who finds hope in the midst of sorrow and despair, who lifts our spirits - a green leaf in the midst of Fall!_

_Alive not dead! That is not him!_

But those words, he could not form them. Instead in his anguish, he uttered gruffly: "He is beyond aid. I have felt it myself; the last, faint flutters of his heart before it ceased." Then a desperate outcry: "Blasted elf! How dare he leave me! The lad is supposed to be immortal!"

"Shhh..." Mîaddar silenced the dwarf, ignoring his desperate curses, speaking softly, "You know not... I am not late."

And then almost voiceless, "- I cannot be! - His heart is still warm, still moving, barely, but I can feel it."

Gimli could not believe what he was hearing; his rational thoughts refused to hold on to a hope that surely would be cruelly broken.

"He lost too much blood!" The dwarf replied in despair, trying to make her understand.

"Elven blood can multiply, it is different for us..." The elleth forcefully retorted.

Still, the glint of tears was visible in her eyes. Closing them, she spoke something in that lilting tongue of the elves, sounding even more strange from her lips. She repeated those words over and over again, the tone of her voice coarse and raw as she commanded and implored. Her hand on Legolas' chest trembled even more.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze resting on the elf's still face, she swallowed hard. Her tears then fell, following the shallow shades of grief and leaving glittering traces on her pale amber cheeks. With her free hand, she shakily caressed the elf's face, only for a breath, a stolen moment.

Gimli could not help but notice, only for that very brief moment, how heartbreaking and soft the sad gesture appeared. He stared in awe at one more elven oddity, as a great sadness washed over him.

But then he watched in shock as she heaved his elf up, until his body came to rest, lifelessly slumped back against her own.

"I will take him with me," she announced firmly.

Her voice was low and quavering but allowed no objection. Her eyes were serious and dark, almost daring.

"I will keep his heart warm."

Her black horse lay down next to her and allowed her to lift the limp body with her on its back. The large beast elegantly rose, carrying its rider and the lifeless form of the elf.

With unblinking eyes, Gimli followed the rushing, yet faint reflection of moonlight - the dark-blue horse with the silver glittering wings - as it swiftly bore her away over the plain, taking with it his precious elf.

He might never see his friend again. That was the only thought he managed to form. And as they were gone, his hurting heart yearned for blankness and void, the only release he could fathom.

* * *

Aragorn had fought relentlessly. There was no way he could have reached his friends any sooner. Wherever he looked, there were Uruks around him.

His mind was possessed by sheer bloodlust for vengeance. One brutal strike following the next, he felled foe after foe. Until, after a long, dazzling outburst of unrestrained rage, the ranger found himself standing alone, surrounded by foul bodies all slain by his sword, his rushed breath heaving with thrill and exertion. The lingering combat seemed an event he had no part in. The hard clashes of metal, the sinister snarls of vile beasts, the screams of the dying, and all the sounds battle carried with it were totally blocked from his senses. All he could think of and yearn for was to reach his companions. The worry and deep sorrow for his wounded friend he had left with Gimli crushed down on him now with no small amount of nagging guilt.

\- Legolas had done it again! He had saved him, ready to sacrifice his own life. -

Aragorn feared the state in which he would find the elf as he hurried towards the shelter. His feet carried him to the outcrop of stone where he nearly stumbled over an utterly shattered dwarf kneeling on the floor beside a pool of blood.

"Gimli! Where is he?" he shouted to the dwarf, falling to his knees and shakily touching the ground, the coppery scent assailing his senses.

"Gimli!" He cried out, the panic tearing his voice.

"Talk to me!" He harshly commanded the muted dwarf.

Staring obstinately at the ground, Gimli stammered: "The blood... 't was flowing with every beat... I-I've tried... tried to stop it… but 't would not... flooding incessantly... under my hand... his heartbeat - ... I - … could feel it no more..."

At that point, a wailing sob _c_ ut his voice off.

Aragorn's heart tore at the devastating message revealed to him.

This insidious fight had forced him away from his friend. He had left his side - and eventually left him to die. - And now... even his body had been taken from him.

The very thought that those foul beasts had taken the elf's fair body was destroying him. - They might abuse him even in death. - He knew how much the dark creatures hated the elves.

And yet - … something in him stubbornly refused to believe that Legolas was dead. With all the respect he had for Gimli, in his mind he rejected the dwarf's words. Until he did not see with his own eyes, until he felt the stillness under his own hands, it was simply too painful to accept. They had gone through too much together for it to end like this, in this dark night of slaughter.

"Gimli!" he yelled, "I told you not to leave him, no matter what!" He flung at the dwarf all his despair.

But then he realized how utterly miserable Gimli appeared. Aragorn had never seen him this way; a small bundle, slumped to the ground, his hanging head buried in stout, yet quivering hands. **  
**

Aragorn suddenly regretted his biting words. After all, Legolas was much dearer to the dwarf than he would ever admit.

Aragorn moved close to the short being and laid his hand amicably on his shoulder.

"I am sorry Gimli," he whispered softly.

Gimli kept his head bent, stammering tonelessly: "Sh-She 's taken 'im away..." he rasped.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, frowning at his meaning. He cupped the dwarf's face in both of his hands, directing his gaze until their eyes met. What he saw in the dwarf's stare was highly unsettling. The brown, beady eyes were shining wet and looked startlingly vacant.

"Gimli, look at me!" He insisted, pressing his palms against the bearded cheeks. "Who is _she_?" He demanded firmly, yet gently this time.

Gimli shook his head squeezing his eyes closed as if struggling to remember, "She... she came… on a black horse - and their glow… it was odd… it was starkly depressing." Gimli described the appearance and then opened his eyes frowning at his taller companion as if he did not believe his own words.

"It is all wrong! Please tell me this is merely a dream, a nightmare, and I am going to wake soon – …That strange glow was all around them and yet, no Uruks harmed 'em, nor seemed to even notice. She attracted not a single one of the beasts, their glow was almost dark. This cannot be real! 'm going mad, Aragorn!"

"Mîaddar," it dawned on Aragorn, "The healer we saw on the Hornburg! You are not mad, Gimli!"

His heart warmed as he imagined what must have happened.

"… They do not see. The horse shimmers with what the Sirith, the elves of the South, left as a hope for the good on the lands on this side of the sea. Evil eyes do not see it. And it hides its rider and all that is not meant to be seen behind it. That's what they say. And there is grief concerning their sailing weaved deep into those two beings, perhaps that's why the glow appeared to you gloomy and dim."

Gimli frowned, still not daring to hope. "His heart ceased beating before she came. Look at the amount of blood..." He lowered his gaze to the ground, plunging into distress once more.

"How can she say he's not dead? 'Promised she will keep his heart warm, and then the horse carried 'em away. Why is she speakin' foolishness, playin' with my hope?"

Hope lit the grey in Aragorn's eyes to an almost flickering silver.

"She did not come late…" he whispered. _Now_ he began to understand Legolas' words earlier that night…

His gaze met Gimli's confused, questioning one. His heart was lightening slightly, holding onto the thin thread of hope, most true to his name.

"Gimli," he said, comforting his friend and himself, "Do not lose faith, my dwarven friend!"

Gimli was not convinced, "She was distressed, Aragorn, and dark were her features," he retorted.

Aragorn looked straight at Gimli, forcefully pushing his own, nagging doubts aside, drowning them with force. Because if there was even the slightest shard of hope that Legolas would live he would seize it.

"She cannot be certain. She is a living creature with feelings like you and I _._ She is not infallible. And she owns the wisdom to know that. She knows not if she can keep him alive, but it seems that she has hope. As should we."

"Elves!" Gimli exclaimed, "Who understands them! Odd sprites that they are!"

Gimli needed a hug and threw himself into the arms of a surprised Aragorn, who patted his companion comfortingly on the back. Then the smaller being shrugged back to look at his taller friend, now with the slightest spark of hope dancing hesitantly across his face. He fervently prayed that Aragorn was not mistaken.

"Our princeling will wake up facing this strange creature, he probably considers pretty... I've seen how he looked at her… this lucky elf! Little rascal!" Gimli grunted, to comfort himself more than anything. He was trying a smile behind welling tears, and struggling hard to turn sobs into chuckles.

The pain still restricted his throat, because fear was way stronger than hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to the wonderful Ruiniel for always supporting me.
> 
> Thanks for the new Kudos. And to Rosenthorne for her lovely reviews.
> 
> Reviews make me happy :) even just a line, a few words, only just to let me know you are there.
> 
> Stay safe!


	19. Silent and Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I want to say thank you for your precious reviews! And for the Kudos. Each one is like a gift to me. 
> 
> And again with emphasis, I thank Ruiniel, a great author taking the time to beta-read my work.

She rushed over the plain, leaving the cruel sounds of the battlefield behind. She felt as if flying over the land, aware of naught else but the broken body of the elf prince she held close. The wind tugged at the rider and her still burden, blowing strands of his pale gold hair across her face.

The wind… a raw power easily shifting; it could be softly caressing, or soothing and calming, playfully teasing or singing of freedom. It could angrily unlatch its fury in a storm. And if never before she had feared it - now she did; she feared its cold bite… feared the chill that was slowly spreading within her.

The blood was now barely a trickle from the wound, due to the too weak life-flutter. She desperately strained to gather all the warmth from her own body and the close connection with her horse, forcing the heat to stream through her hand, driving it into Legolas' heart. The moonlight illuminated both rider and horse as if wanting to aid in generating more of the reviving life essence.

She rode without rest, the stars guiding her. To where, she knew not. She was exposed to the mercy of the wind and jostled by frantic urgency. She yearned to reach the wood with the great ancient trees; Fangorn Forest! Mîaddar needed its quiet comfort, its wisdom, its strong, living energy. And yet she knew that the elf in her arms would not last the long ride. His life would inevitably slip from her grasp, snatched from her hands by the wind's constant bite.

She struggled to keep her course, searching within for a steadying anchor. In her mind she imagined the forest appearing in her sight, waiting for them, and finally receiving them into its comforting embrace. The trees parted for them, leading the two elves swiftly into the heart of the protecting wood.

She knew that the night was dark under the thick canopy of leaves. The forest seemed to bear a heavy weight, but the trees were humming the melody of the wind and the sun above them. And their song was dispersing the darkness. **  
**

She envisioned how they were about to reach her tree; the tree she had chosen among all the trees of the forest. - Or had the tree chosen to be hers...? - That day, all those years past, when Fangorn Forest had first welcomed her after she left Imladris with new hope in her heart, and a renewed sense of life.

That day, a lone elf had entered a mighty forest and found a new home, overwhelmed by the beauty it preserved, despite the evil that was creeping and growing around it. It had reminded her of her own distant home, where the trees silently guarded the hope of growth and life; resisting destruction, mourning with them, and lending solace.

The wood was deeply hurt by evil; she could ever sense it speaking to her heart, mirroring her own aching soul. It was carrying grief and sorrow, and yet it was living, breathing and growing, and singing its ancient song.

That day she had let her weary body drop down onto the roots of a mighty tree, had embraced its trunk in gratitude, feeling her deep connection with the life inside it, becoming one. She had felt the life energy flowing from deep inside the earth, and into her body melted against the tree _-_ She had felt that power soar into the wide sky, where the topmost branches reached out to receive the light of the moon and the stars. She had felt the energy surge back through its boughs and trunk, down through her whole being clutching at the bark, rooting deep into the earth.

That day she had felt her profound connection to life through this steadfast, living creature, and she had known it would be her source of strength from then on, the roots keeping her linked to the land.

With the power of her mind, the gentle touch of her hands and the vitality of the tree itself, over the years the branches had formed beautiful arcs to keep her close, where Mîaddar retired every time she needed to rest and feel at home. **  
**

Moved by deep love, her heart sang of her tree. **  
**

~.~.~

_The tree is gentle to me. - The moonlight and the light of the stars she gathers for me._

_I can see her shining softly even in daytime under the shade of the canopy._

_I am sure she keeps the light she drinks in the clear nights, to give to me._

_I need it… need it for the healing of my aching heart, and to preserve the ability to heal other beings of this plagued land._

_I believe the moon and the stars, they know, and so they offer their light every cloudless night._

_The tree is so gentle to me._

~.~.~

She yearned for it so desperately that in her mind her tree appeared between the other trunks. Mîaddar sought to absorb her light, even from far. The soft glow that emanated from the old, gnarled being soothed her heart. She strongly believed that it would warm the heart of any who could see it. But they were so far from her home… and Legolas' eyes were closed… therefore Mîaddar's hand radiated the light directly into his heart.

And then, as if in a dream, as she rushed down the hill, on the bank of a shallow stream appeared a weeping willow. She had known of the lonesome tree; several times before had she ridden past it. Yet never had the elleth dared to approach her. She could not bear the sorrow the great willow-tree awoke in her, so lonely and abandoned in a place where endless hills and grass built the landscape. The tree had silently implored her from afar but never had she stopped in her ride to visit. The willow's boughs were bent to the earth and water as if carrying an enormous weight. Her innumerable long leaves shimmered like falling tears. But that night the tree glowed in Mîaddar's eyes, warm and inviting - and it called her - softly and hesitantly, but hopeful… - it called her…

… And Mîaddar answered. Endlessly grateful for the willow's generous offering… - she answered.

For the first time in many long years since she crossed those lands, she reached the tree, and disappeared under her shelter while the willow's hanging branches eagerly caressed the slight shape of the elleth.

Mîaddar dismounted Caladdolen, gently pulling Legolas down with her. The elf was limp and heavy in her arms and yet alarmingly frail. She carefully laid him at the base of the tree under its bent boughs, never withdrawing her hand. There was no pulse where her hand lay pressed flat over pale skin, only stillness. She feared he would slip away to where she could not reach, so she held on to him.

 _Hold him... hold him... hold him! Do not let him leave!_ – Her heart screamed.

But then she realized with a sigh of relief that the nightly wind did not reach through the curtain of leaves.

Down on her knees, she remembered words as if engraved in her memory:

_He had said, "In the course of your life you might accomplish goals close to wonders. But you have to hope against reason, to want it with every fibre of your being, to wish it against all sanity. - Then it can happen; you would call it a wonder, aught on the brink of the impossible."_

_She had been confused then. Everything was too much for her. - They were about to leave. She would be abandoned to the darkness they needed to flee, and to herself._

_He gave his all to prepare her for what she might face, to teach her everything he knew, and even speak of what he knew not. They worked incessantly during those last nights and days. The devastation was endless. They needed not go and search for the wounded. They were brought to them in scores, so dire were the times._

_Warriors died under their care, regardless, they died despite their labour. They grieved… and still, they worked, and people were healed because of their unceasing efforts._

_"Never resign, hope against reason, wish against sanity, trust your hands and your skills. Praise the potent properties of the plants offering their healing treasures. Wherever you are, you know how to find all you need. I have taught you. The woods grant us what we require for healing. Never give in. You are a healer. Wonders are possible. - And never underestimate the strength of an elven body."_

_It had been too much for her then._

_She remembered their last hours together. She remembered how her people left. She remembered the last time she looked into the deep black eyes of her Ada, which were so much like hers. She remembered the last glimpse she caught of his long, raven hair before he disappeared into the thickness of the wood with the intent of leaving it behind, leaving_ her _behind. And her loving Nana had left with him. **  
**_

_She could not forget the crying of her little ones and their tear-streaked faces looking back at her, as they were pulled gently along; the eldest clinging to her mother's hand and the two younger ones led by the strong hands of her father._

_Her heart shattered._

_It was too much for her then. And she knew, it had been too much for him._

_Perhaps he accepted her decision because in a way she made up for their abandoning the lands._

_But she knew it broke his heart. And it broke_ her _heart._

_And somehow, she resented him._

_It was too much for her then, and his words only added to her confusion._

Carefully but swiftly Mîaddar removed the bloodstained clothes from the prince's injured torso. Her full attention was on the deep cut to his chest. Her healer's mind finally won its struggle with her distress and for a short time worked rationally to assess the damage.

The knife had struck close to the heart. Important blood vessels had been severed, his lung had been punctured. His state was dire.

Mîaddar feared they were running out of time.

The trickle of blood from the wound had ceased. The elleth knew too well what it meant and she knew that hope would slowly dwindle with the passing of time.

He could just slip away... so fast... too far...

She had told the dwarf that she was not late, that the elf was not dead, that the short being knew nothing at all. But now as she saw how Legolas' lips were tinged blue, Miaddar knew not if she had foolishly spoken out of mere desperate and irrational desire. **  
**

Yet the willow above them did not weep as she expected it to… she glowed.

She did not know how, but eventually, the elleth managed to keep her fingers steady while working. Her mind was blurred as if in a haze, her hands worked all by themselves.

She thought of her Ada, of all the lives they had saved and of his words, of all he had taught her.

And so she worked swiftly, suppressing the fearful trembling in her fingers. She worked without rest, bringing to use the precious effects of the plants and herbs. She fought against time. Her fingers worked deftly and with surety although her emotions were far from that. Fear and despair gnawed at her, accompanied by an unbearable longing to see the light and life in those unbelievable eyes that reminded her of the ocean's breeze. **  
**

They could not remain shut forever! Valar have mercy! They simply could not...

She anxiously placed her fingertips on the main arteries, at his throat and his wrists and his groin, feeling intently. A shy wave of relief swept over her and Mîaddar gasped as her sensitive touch perceived the small pressure of blood building within.

 _'Never underestimate the strength of an elven body,'_ he had said.

She knew it was possible to bring back the beat to an elven heart that had been still for so long... She remembered her father telling her of it. But they had been stories edging to miracles; it just seemed unreal, from a world of tales.

 _'You have to hope against reason'_ he had said...

Perhaps the power to accomplish this was hidden somewhere within... - but the doubts and the fear of failure clutched tightly at her.

She laid her hand over the elven heart once more, conducting all the warmth she could gather. She trembled and shivered with exertion. The willow was lending her constant support. It seemed that the tree with the shimmering silvery leaves collected the light from the moon and the stars for them, aiding her struggle, wanting him to live. And it encouraged her.

But his heart was not responding, not willing to beat again.

Silent and still he was... so still... too long...

"Please, Sinda-prince, come back to life!" she implored him in the elven tongue, her emotions crushing her, the lump in her throat becoming thick and painful.

_Hope against reason!..._

_...Wish against all sanity!_

Tears spilled from her eyes, falling onto the elf's pale face and chest.

Lost in her longing and sadness, she spoke to the silent heart, begging it to tell her what it needed to beat again. The almost translucent skin, where it was wet from her tears, glittered faintly, and the gleaming particles seemed to permeate through it. Her fëa reached deep into Legolas' own soul.

And then it seemed to her, that the body under her hands fluttered, barely, almost imperceptibly.

_Was she losing her sanity?_

She began to see...

She saw Legolas' bright smile as he was surrounded by his friends and family.

...There was Estel, and the twins and Elrond... He was in Imladris...

...a tall, mighty elf with flowing, white gold hair reaching to his waist, a severe and regal expression on the handsome face, intricately entwined leaves, blossoms and vines crowning his head; a splendid King of the forest. She saw Legolas being tightly embraced by the majestic elf and she saw the love in the elder elf's steel-blue eyes. - That must have been his Adar! - The kinship was unmistakable... **  
**

She saw his wild chases on horses with two other elven warriors. She heard their amicable taunts. She saw the mirth on their faces.

She saw him climbing trees, lightly leaping from limb to limb. She heard his joyful songs, the soft caress of his slightly throaty yet musical and uplifting voice. She heard his cheerful laughter, like that of a hopeful, lighthearted child.

_He was ever lively. - Not still!_

_Brimming with life. - Not dead!_

She saw it all...

...the woods of his home, in places infested by shadow and spider webs...

...the shadows reflecting sadness in the elven eyes...

...the elves standing strong in the midst of it all...

...fair warriors fighting back darkness, tireless, wild...

...united in the bitterness of brutal battles...

...fey, agile forms moving silently between the leaves, pouncing from the trees...

...a sleek captain, with hair of pale gold, leading...

...formidable... graceful... and terrifying...

...steady and grounded... his voice shouting orders...

...his eyes ablaze with an undying flame...

Strength, loyalty, compassion, hope and unrestricted determination she saw in him. He was loved and esteemed. - But something was hindering him to return; something hidden _._

Mîaddar closed her eyes willing her fëa to reach deeper. Panting with effort she coiled all the warmth and light she could muster into her hand, forcing it to radiate into the heart under her palm.

He had to make it! He had fought so many battles, he could not lose this one!

And there it revealed her the pain.

Not the pain of injuries acquired in battle, not the pain of a captain of a people at war, not the pain of the losses of companions, or of losing his mother. Those injuries were kept safe, along with the precious memories. Memories of victories, memories of joy and closeness with dear friends now gone, memories of a wood, where the trees lived in union with the elves, of a time when the song of this wood had been whole and great, memories of his beloved family, his mother...

No - this was a different pain.

She saw terrible scenes of abuse inflicted on him by all kind of creatures.

She saw the coldness and the strong will, the pride in his eyes as they tormented him; not bending at any cost. She had seen pain before in her long life, so much pain and sorrow. And yet these images assailed her with a violence unforeseen. They would not cease. One scene of horror was hunting the next.

The visions mercilessly took hold of her and she could not withdraw. She was forced to see the strong endurance of the elf driven to its furthest limits.

She saw the fear and weariness in eyes that had suffered too much.

How could he be so deeply vulnerable and yet so immensely strong?

 _There_ was the vulnerability she had seen, hidden in his endless grey-blue depths. Now she saw it all brutally vivid. And she had no choice, no chance of escape. If she pulled her hand away, he would die. She would not allow that! She had spoken to his heart and now it revealed her all, pulling her into its hidden depths.

She saw Legolas looking slightly younger than even his ever-youthful appearance. An unbroken will flickering in his eyes. Men were holding him, his body already bruised and bleeding from past abuse. The way they looked at him filled Mîaddar with heavy unease.

She had seen enough! She was desperately trying to push the images away. She did not want to see this!

Her mind screamed.

The willow sang, a song of grief.

He had gone through torment an elf was barely supposed to survive. If not for Elrond's healing care, the concern of his family and friends, and his own, incomparable strength, he would not have lived. But, for whatever reason, Eru Ilúvatar had sent him perhaps the most powerful healer in Middle-earth, a great amount of love and care, and had gifted him with power that went even beyond elven limits. - He had endured. He had moved on. And with the help of a very special human named _Hope_ , he had healed. - But how can a wound so deep ever heal without leaving a scar? He would carry it, deeply hidden inside, through eternity. And now, as he was injured and most vulnerable it resurfaced, hindering his fight to hold onto life. **  
**

… and she saw it...

... the pride in the cold, grey eyes giving way to fear...

...the touches of rough, filthy hands on fair, pure skin... **  
**

Despair and horror were edging his usually smooth features.

She was shaking with rage and disgust.

The elf prince's feelings flowed from the depths of his heart, driven through her hand placed to his chest, and piercing her own heart.

She could not bear it! - But it would not cease.

She saw Legolas' eyes glazed with immense pain and unshed tears. They were mirroring the terrified cries he refused to reveal. She felt the shame, caused by his perceived weakness, that he could not accept.

Her heart broke, burst into a myriad of pieces.

MÎaddar cried as she had not cried in a very long time, her whole body shuddered between deep sobs, while the sickening images would not release her.

She wished to stop this cruelty! She wished to reach him in that dark, forsaken place and draw him away from the agony.

Her wish was so strong that it took her there.

Legolas' liquid blue eyes locked onto her gaping black depths, full of unbelieving despair, before closing in shame. As if he wanted to block her out, send her away.

She felt like intruding into a place that was never meant for her to see, nor even know about. - But what choice did she have? - She had stepped over a forbidden line, violated his hidden, humiliating secret. - And yet his chest now arched into her hand, as if desperate to not lose its contact.

She pulled him with her, escaping the terrifying scene.

Mîaddar found herself back in reality. Beneath her hand, the pulsations of a heart she had longed so desperately to feel. A wave of overwhelming emotions washed over her, flooding her body and her spirit, fueling it with renewed vitality. Her tears still flowed freely, but now they were tears of relief and deep gratitude.

And over them _,_ glowed the weeping willow tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on one more short side story to this story. A one-shot on a particular meeting. I will post it under the series "Through Different Eyes" so watch out for it in the next few weeks ;)


	20. Dream or Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update comes later than usual because it took me quite a while to put this together until I was more or less content with it. Let me say thank you to Ruiniel here, for being a great help.
> 
> Also at the same time, I was working on the story "Words can not tell..." for the Teitho Contest, Challenge Gems an Jewels, where it placed first (together with another story). I posted a slightly modified version as Ch3 of my series of sidestories to this fic "Through Different Eyes".
> 
> In case you did not yet; check that series out if you are following "Carried by the Wind". I publish one-shots there which are related to this fic and come to me in between, but I can't somehow place in the main plot. I have much fun exploring more around this story so I decided to start the series, which I really enjoy writing.
> 
> But now on with the story ;)

Once more she was waiting behind walls while she had longed to ride alongside the warriors, sword in hand, ready to fight for her people, Rohan and Middle-earth. She was more than capable, she knew, and she knew that they knew it too. Yet, they did not allow her to show it. The wind on the wall tugged at her long dress and blew wayward strands of hair across her delicate face. Her long, fair mane lashed furiously behind her. Éowyn stared out into the night over the wide plain, her eyes in the moonlight bearing a watery shine, moist from the biting winds or maybe owed to her strong emotions. **  
**

Waiting was torturous to her, every time. **  
**

They would fight. Adrenaline would shoot through their veins. They would prevail or they would fall. But she was forced to wait in unrest, every time. She was forced to see them return at times wounded, or not return at all. She was exposed to painful uncertainty, her heart troubled, about to burst. And she could do nothing – nothing at all; caged in waiting until they returned, hopefully easing her heart by being whole and victorious.

And so, as she spotted the men approaching the wall, her gaze sought the shape of Éomer and her heart eased at the sight of her brother, and as she recognized even Aragorn relief filled her. She rushed down to the gate to receive the returning party.

But as she saw them close she realized that they had indeed fought. Some of the men were injured, albeit riding on their own horses. Aragorn gave her a curt nod. His grey eyes were not bright at that moment, but dark. He appeared worn down and dishevelled. And behind him on the horse sat the dwarf, a heavy air about him, eyes dull and spent. Arod followed alone, a horse without his rider.

Éowyn stared in shock.

And so it happened once more, that one did not return. She had barely known the elf, and yet his absence hit her like a blow. It was as if the party, despite the men's weariness, had ridden out with strength and confidence, a strange steady light among them, and now returned in darkness.

* * *

Mîaddar lifted her gaze to the sky. The soft light of dawn gently seeped through the density of falling twigs adorned with flowing leaves.

 _'She cries with me,'_ the elleth realized.

She had never found the heart to greet the tree before. So young, compared to the gnarled, ancient giants of Fangorn Forest, the lone creature had appeared to her fragile and lost and reminded her of aught she preferred to suppress. Never had the elleth guessed what one day she would accomplish with its support, and how those hanging leaves would not mourn but rejoice with radiating strength, soothing her grief. And she felt safely cradled even more. **  
**

The night was warm under the comforting embrace of the weeping willow tree embracing her from above. The wind had stilled. Instead, her ears were filled with the soft sound of the elf's steady breathing.

She smiled amid her tears and hummed her own song of gratitude beneath the willow's leaves. **  
**

 _'It is not me who accomplished this wonder,'_ the elleth silently whispered to the heights. _'I could never have done it on my own, if not by the grace of the Valar and the help of the weeping willow, and his own, stubborn strength.'_

What she had seen in that last vision's cold, cruel place, she wanted to forget.

Patiently, she waited for Legolas to wake. Basking in the feeling of his now warm skin beneath her hand, the rise and fall of his breathing against her palm, soaking in the sight of his pale, even features, now resplendent with the elf's natural glow.

* * *

Legolas' eyelids fluttered slightly as consciousness slowly returned. He felt heavy and exhausted. There was pain, he noticed, but something kept it at bay. Something soothing and soft lay on his chest, radiated through his whole body, filling him with life and a sensation of delightful warmth. The feeling was strong and real. Legolas' hands instinctively moved up to find the source. He opened his eyes, blinking into the dancing morning light. He breathed and allowed himself some time to adjust to the brightness and then, squinting again, he tried to focus.

He flinched at the sight of those unusual, black eyes looking back at him, surrounded by the softly gleaming leaves in the waking sunlight. At the near ethereal image, his long eyelashes fluttered several times in utter surprise, trying to clear his blurred vision, unsure if he was not dreaming or dead.

"Mîaddar...?" He whispered in confusion, "- ...Where am I?... - What happened? - ... Are you... real?" He frowned, his voice raw from disuse.

A glint of mirth lit Mîaddar's eyes, and a shy sparkle flitted through their darkness.

"Oh yes, I am very real! - And yes, it is I," she said.

Warmth softly smoothed her slightly hoarse voice.

"We are under a lonely willow on Rohan's hills, Legolas, Sinda-prince. I have brought you with me. - Your heart was silent for too long… The tree… she has sustained us through it all."

Falling silent, she tipped something to his lips and he welcomed the fresh trickling of water down his parched throat, swallowing greedily, wanting more. But the elleth allowed it only in slow sips, and then she paused.

Pain flared, but the elf focused on her unusual face. He remembered those almond eyes behind the veil, ones he had forcefully banished from his mind. Those eyes; dark, unknown yet knowing, piercing, shaded with blackness, protecting the depth of a soul.

Realization struck! - His dream… she knew!

And now she was here, and she was real!

He believed that the apparition in the red tent had been an illusion brought about by the magic of the desert night. - But now came the near certainty that what he had thought a mere dream had been anything but.

Yet reality felt like an abstract construct in his hazy state, where dream, past and present all mingled together, and strangely kept the pain somehow far away.

She had seen his intimate desire. He had not been ashamed of it. He had lain there at the time, bare and yearning, and her gaze had stirred him willingly, bringing about sweet pleasure.

Legolas stared up at her, forgetting to breathe.

He clutched her hand and pressed it harder against his chest, as if fearing she could disappear like that night in the desert, vanishing into a dream. He inhaled deeply, absorbing the gentle pressure.

Fully aware of how he lay before her again, a suppressed longing unravelled, causing his breathing to quicken. The warmth of her delicate frame, now so close, thrilled him.

The willow above them went completely still as if holding her breath.

With one hand he held on to hers, and with the other, he reached out and lightly caressed her face. She stared at him with those eyes, wide like that night in the desert. He buried his fingers into the dark locks at the base of her neck. He felt the shudder shaking her, and in the black depths of her eyes, he recognized the same flicker as the one of the candle in the red tent.

She did not pull back. - But she hesitated, resisted, and her dark eyes shied, an almost fearful expression on her amber face.

"No," she spoke weakly, "it is not allowed..."

Legolas' brow furrowed in confusion, the unleashed longing causing the hand cupping her slim neck to tremble.

"I- " she stammered, "… as much as I do... long for- … forbidden it is! I am a healer, and you are under my care… I cannot… take advantage of that... and… you have taken more than serious injury... your body could not be ready for..." she trailed off.

He could have pulled her down towards him until their sighs mingled, until their lips gently touched. Could have quenched the need painfully searing his throat and tightening his groin.

He did not.

And then it all crashed down on him, as he remembered the recent events; the knife thrust into his chest, the slashing pain, the struggle his body had put him through; trying to hold on, not to leave his friends. He remembered his last thoughts before passing out.

And from there in a tangled spiral, confusing pieces of visions and feelings of harrowing memories pushed their way into his mind. Awakening the dread and the shame, as he recalled hands of men, rude and demanding on his skin, their rushed breathing assailing him violently, the pungent scent of sweat… He had buried it all, locked it away long ago. It could not reemerge. He would not allow this to affect him once more!

But now, unbidden, those eyes had pried the forbidden images from him…

\- How dare she! -

In an uncontrolled reflex, he shrugged her hand away, jerking back as far as possible in his prone position. He glared at her with fire flaring within him, resent and the pain of the wound suddenly burning in his chest, stinging his eyes, shooting up tears he refused to release.

Through his blurred vision, he saw her freeze, her full lips parted in a fearful gasp. Her black eyes turned indefinably dark, and despair welled in them in the same instant.

His breath hitched and he pressed his eyes closed - he wanted to forget!

He remained like this; eyes forcefully shut, his breathing hard and laboured. Dizziness overcame him and a consuming agony flared beneath his wound. His heart thundered loud in his ears.

He had to regain control! - He forced his eyes open.

The sight of her hit him unexpectedly then.

She had recoiled from him, her back pressed to the trunk of the tree, her hands gripping the roots at its base, knuckles turned white from the strain. Thoroughly startled, she struggled to keep her balance - her eyes wide open and staring. A wild blend of sorrow, insecurity and dread glistened moistly upon their blackness.

 _Like a cornered animal_ , the thought pierced him, almost detached from the turmoil he felt within. _Cornered, and frozen with fear?_

Intermingling with his tedious heaving, he heard her silent, restrained but quick breathing.

He was completely out of control, a terrifying feeling taking hold. And at the same time, he felt miserable about rejecting her in such a manner. None of this was her fault.

She shook her head with gravity, urgently.

"Don't," the elleth gasped, "Please breathe slowly…"

He saw how she trembled.

Legolas struggled to calm down. But he failed. The ache in his chest was now nearly unbearable.

This should not have happened! It had once been a dream. Untainted desire – pure and delightful...

But now a shadow had descended upon it.

Why had she dug so deep? – And yet, if she had not… What would have happened?

Caught in his emotional turmoil, the agony of the fresh, lethal wound and the dizziness of blood loss, Legolas suddenly saw the elleth easing towards him. As much as he despised it, he could not avoid his body's reflex to tense.

The elleth froze again when she noticed, but she did not hunch back into the trunk's protection again.

He warily followed the movement of her shaking hand as she picked up the waterskin lying between the roots of the weeping tree before she hesitantly resumed her approach.

The words left her throat in a soundless gasp.

"Please," she pleaded, "Drink! You need it."

At first, she sat still, staring at him, as if timidly awaiting a harsh reaction. But then, as he did not move at all, she reached for him to help him hold his head up.

He let it happen; dizziness and nausea washed over him once more, and he was too depleted to hold any consistent thoughts.

She touched the tip of the waterskin to his lips, and reflexively he swallowed, slowly sipping the pure, reviving liquid. He longed for water - more water - and she seemed grateful for every drop he accepted from her. Her gaze changed from terrified to concerned, and… almost bright with hope.

As she lowered him back down, his muscles stiffened again, painfully so, and his breathing still came difficult. The confused emotions flared once more, while he tried to reduce the lingering pain.

* * *

She had to get away. He needed rest. He seemed not to find it when she was near.

She was restless too. - What had she done?

It had been a dream, the soft caress in a red tent, her eyes and the light of a candle playing on sleek muscles. Fluid motions, beautiful and bared before her.

It now all burst like a bubble of soap in the air. And she dared not touch him again. Not even with healer's hands. Afraid to defile the magic that had once happened between them. **  
**

His rejection burnt her, it hurt, as did the wild thumping of his heart, painfully refusing her.

Like a searing sting piercing her spirit, flared the image of flickering torchlight in a dark place, a cruel game of fire and shades on tight sinews and skin twitching with pain and shame. She had violated a secret never meant for her to see. Had mingled in things forbidden... **  
**

But had there been any other choice? - The alternative would have been unbearable.

His biting reaction unsettled her.

Too soon he would leave. He needed to rest for what lay ahead.

It hurt her immensely that where once she had brought delight and received pure beauty and passion, she now triggered shame and dread. It was hard to accept.

* * *

Even in his hazy state, Legolas registered that the elleth near him was now shivering intensely. And then, almost hastily, like a haunted deer, she fled behind the trunk of the willow.

The tree above him reached out to him, weeping down her leaves comfortingly all around him. The feeling caressed his senses, and his keen hearing caught the familiar trickle of a small stream. He waited, breathlessly, but she did not return.

What was she doing? She seemed to play with the water, deviating its natural course. The soft, fresh, springing sound finally calmed him and gently sung him into sleep.

* * *

She tried to busy herself; sort her emotions, control her actions.

Behind the trunk of the willow, she held her hands into the chilly clear water-stream. She cupped her hands and brought the cold water up to her face letting it trickle over her eyes and down her cheeks, repeating the procedure again and again, not wanting to cease, as if to wash away what she had seen. It felt refreshing and soothing.

When Mîaddar returned, she saw that he had fallen asleep. She was relieved.

He was exhausted. He was sleeping with his eyes closed. A hand near his injury resting over his heart, as if to protect it.

She watched him silently, following the play of the sun through the leaves on shaped, supple muscles. The lines of his face looked now strikingly smooth, almost angelic. The fine beams of sunlight caressing it gently as if all the torment of before had never taken control. His hair lay softly sprawled on the floor like a bright halo, accentuating the fair, peaceful image.

But still, the elleth was uneasy, she was unsure.

His intense reaction had caused his heart rate to increase in a way that made her fear it could affect his recovery. She dared not to touch him, but she found no peace. Mîaddar was beyond exhausted and yet she watched him closely, surveying his breathing motions.

Finally, she took courage; slightly lifting his hand from where he held it, she slipped her own hand under his - carefully, not to wake him - until it came to rest on his heart. The beat was strong and steady. The deep, thrumming pulse carrying an elf through centuries and millenia. It was reassuring. It calmed her, and Mîaddar allowed herself to lie down and slowly drift into sleep, her hand shielding the life quivering beneath it. And on top lay the warm, calloused hand of the warrior.

* * *

The day had reached its peak when Legolas slowly blinked and found himself lying beside her. She was asleep, close to him. His wound ached dully. It was a bearable pain, that of healing injuries.

He felt something else. Something warm on his chest. There lay her hand again, relaxed, over his heart, and unaware, he had held it to him. He realized how much his body's strong reaction must have terrified her. She had been monitoring, she had been worried. She had not trusted his strength. Legolas felt a shiver of tenderness. The threat almost melted away as he now watched her peacefully sleeping.

And yet, he had to come to terms with the fact that she had _seen,_ as much as he wished he could undo it.

As he shifted and released her hand, her eyes blinked, struggling to focus. For a short breath, the elleth seemed alarmed. Her eyes shot wide open and she softly gasped.

"Worry not, I am alive," Legolas said. His voice low, as if to soothe a frightened child.

He turned to his side, regarding her. She blinked again. The confusion was apparent on her face. She pushed herself up on her arms, warily putting some distance between them.

She attempted a smile, cautious and hesitant, and then she turned serious.

"You have to leave," the elleth said, voice soft but firm, and Legolas thought he heard a hint of sadness. "Your friends think you dead, you should not let them suffer."

"I know, I should not…" Legolas replied, and his heart tightened, "My call is to stay by their side, to fight with them, to protect them, to fight for the future of these lands. I have fought all my life, and soon it could all be decided." He felt all the years of struggle and battle weighing on him, the power of hope in the new bonds of friendship. His tone left no doubt of his strong conviction, and it was a good way to cover the unsettling awkwardness he felt.

"Besides, I was leading Gimli by some kills in our challenge and I intend not to let him catch up on me," he grinned somewhat mischievously.

"You what...?" Mîaddar frowned at him, bewildered but also relieved for the change in mood. She tilted her head, regarding him seriously. "This is no game…!" She uttered aghast.

"I know. It is not. We all know it," his eyes darkened, "but at times reality is more bearable if you can escape into a game with a dwarf, and I believe that the same holds for him."

"You are good friends." She stated almost casually.

"I dare say so," he replied, shrugging, barely suppressing a warm smile. It was good to speak of Gimli.

And finally, she smiled back at him, relaxing a little.

* * *

The day stretched long. The aftermath of battle still lay heavy upon the Hornburg. And now even as the sun shone it brought no warmth.

She had not spoken to Aragorn - not a word. Both ranger and dwarf had kept a weighty silence. Éowyn had not dared to approach them.

She had sought the company of her brother. He was absent and lost in thought since he had returned. He seemed starkly affected by the events.

"Éomer, dear brother, I am so glad you have returned to me unscathed," Éowyn uttered, her voice nearly breaking.

He wordlessly cradled her in a tight embrace, protective and affectionate. And she relished in the brotherly warmth; thankful that he was still with her. But as he released her she looked at him gravely.

"What happened?" She whispered, eyes wide, desperate to know.

"He took a blade aimed for Lord Aragorn," Eomer released his breath in a sigh, and his voice dropped in tone, "Straight to the chest…"

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as a cold shiver ran through her.

Éomer swallowed dryly before he continued.

"…there is no body… the dwarf claims that the elleth came to take him away… they insist that there is still hope… yet if you had seen the blood on the ground you would not believe so."

And then Éomer brought his hand up to press it firmly against his heart. He spoke in a low voice.

"Against all the doubts I held, the elf has earned my deepest respect. The son of the Elvenking he is, and captain of fey elven warriors defending their realm. He has fought the darkness in that accursed forest for time unimaginable. I have seen him fight with unmatched boldness, regardless of himself. His loyalty surpasses that of my most trusted men… - I join in his companions' hope against what my own reason says."

Éowyn watched her brother silently; a strong warrior who had gone through battles, trials, and banishment and had faced it all with an unwavering façade of determination and strength. To see him so moved in concern and uncertainty for this unknown elf shook her deeply. And even if it seemed against reason, she could not help but join in that hope herself.

The thought of the elleth she now called her friend burying yet another lost one alone in the forest shredded her heart. This time, in her precarious state, the grief would surely overwhelm her and she would inexorably fade.

* * *

The late afternoon sun was pleasantly warming them, pouring its healing as they rode on Caladdolen over the hills of Rohan, Legolas at Mîaddar's back. There had been no other possibility than to travel together on her horse, and Legolas could feel the awkward tension between them at their closeness. The conflict of their minds, the shivers, the warmth and a lingering thrill as their bodies casually touched.

Having ridden along like this for a while, surrounded by seemingly unending hills of green grass, Mîaddar slowed down the pace of her horse until she brought it to a halt.

She lowered her head and the wind blew a few thick raven strands of hair across her face, making her amber skin appear almost golden. The contrast between the warm colour and shine of her features and the deep dark of her slanted eyes looked alien and striking.

"I will not go beyond the walls with you. I will leave you here. I will go no further," she said firmly, almost stubbornly.

Legolas slowly released a long breath he did not know he had been holding.

Mîaddar looked carefully back up at him. Yet, he kept his eyes focused ahead, and her gaze moved to the hills again.

As though she owed it to him, she explained, "I am an elf of the South, descendant of the Sirith and the Taruen. I am a child of the deep forest and the open width of the desert. My spirit follows the freedom of the wind and flows into the heart of the mighty woods. This is who I am, and that is how it will be - always - in this world and the next." Her voice nearly broke. But before she allowed it to fade, she spoke again. "There is more for you to accomplish. Now go... They are waiting!"

Legolas knew she spoke true, though it was hard for him to leave in this manner. Mîaddar's glistening eyes told him she was sharing the same heaviness in heart and mind. Still, she spoke softly, hopefully even, "A bond that is tied, will not be undone by any power on Arda. Nothing can break what was long written."

_What bond was she speaking about? - So many strong bonds had been tied in his long life._

_There was the bond with his father, with the trees of his home, with his people, his soldiers... the bond of friendship and dedication with the fellowship, bearing strong feelings towards each one of its members... and especially the new, precious and unusual bond with Gimli the dwarf, and the ever-deepening bond of brotherly love with Aragorn. And then... she was now before him... she had brought back the beat to his heart..._

_What bond did she mean? - Maybe all of them, because they all were significant...?_

But he revealed none of his thoughts and remained silent.

And then, almost casually, Legolas leaned forward to steal one last, secret touch, to feel her against him. He inhaled deeply, increasing the pressure. And he consciously sensed for the first time the scent of her skin, like lush herbs in the forest and like water in the desert.

She was not younger than him. She had seen ages of life, of good and evil, of love and joy, and pain and suffering alike with her strange, black eyes…

And there it surged again, unbidden, the repulsion of what she had seen of him. He could not help his muscles stiffening once more but carefully kept his mien unshaken and composed.

As if she had sensed and wanted to avoid further hurt, she suddenly dismounted, cutting off his thoughts, and left him alone on her horse. "Caladdolen will carry you swiftly, until the last hill overseeing the plain before the wall."

She then turned abruptly and left him.

"May Ilúvatar watch over you!" the elleth breathed out softly as the distance grew between them.

Legolas heard her, and as Caladdolen sped on, he cast a glance back at the diminishing figure, until she disappeared amid the hills.

* * *

Caladdolen came to a halt on the last ridge, shying and bolting, refusing to descend the slope. Legolas understood and pressed the _Light of the Sirith_ no further. He dismounted and whispered a 'Hannon-le' to her as he gently patted the strong neck.

The late afternoon light touched the tops of the hills. The horse rose and whinnied catching the sun's now soft, golden shine, its shadow stretched mighty and long. And then the animal dashed back over the hill at a speed that Legolas had never seen a horse run.

* * *

Hope lingered throughout the day, but as the shades deepened it wore more and more heavily on them. The people on the burg went on in their businesses. The injured rested. The children hesitantly came out of the halls and started playing games on the stone.

The guards had been given the order to watch out for anyone approaching, be it friend or foe.

And so as the sun still shone in the sky they spotted the elf running down the slope towards the fortress, fast and light in his stride.

"He is alive!" The voice thundered down from the watching post. And then again, the voice tumbling over with surprise at the unbelievable sight, "The elf is alive!"

Aragorn heard. He had been waiting and hoping too long for those words. He ran to the gate and beyond, at a speed that only a man mad with despair and joy could reach. The two friends fell into each other's arms, hugging tightly.

"Mae govannen, Legolas, gwador-nìn!" Aragorn exclaimed, eyes gleaming with tears. The tears quickly started spilling down his cheeks and he pushed the elf an arm-length back to look at him, as to persuade himself he had seen right, before wrapping his friend in another crushing embrace.

"Wait for me!" the small being, running somewhat clumsily, shouted out of breath.

As the dwarf reached the man and the elf, he literally threw himself at them, hugging them both around their waists.

"Nobody can kill this elf! - Blasted princeling that you are! You are indestructible, lad!" His voice was shaking with emotion.

Many were watching, not least the daughter of Éomund from where she stood, eyes bright, her spirit soaring at the sight. And as she turned to run up the stairs with her mind made up and eager to reach Éomer, she barely avoided a collision. Before her stood Gandalf the wizard, his old face smooth in his calmness, eyes knowing and glinting with joy. He nodded at her and she answered with a radiant smile as she hurried past him.

The wizard clasped his hands behind his back and took up her position, watching the reunion of three so utterly different friends. His old eyes calm and alight. And yet behind them, a shade of uncertain foresight lingered as he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and if you'd let me know your thoughts, it would make me very happy.


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